Rising Shadows
by Idledreamcatcher
Summary: A year and a half after Lucien’s defeat, a haunted Sparrow and the three heroes must once again unite in hope of defeating an enemy so many overlook. After sacrificing everything Sparrow held dear, she finds comfort in the most unlikely of individuals.
1. Approaching the Pirate

**Notes: I was unsure of what to rate it but I hope I made the right choice. Took me ages to work out how to upload, ah well...let's hope it was worth the wait. I'm working on another Fable story but this one sort of over took it. Also, there will be some Speaver in this story (no, not a mutant beaver, means Sparrow/Reaver). Enjoy x**

**DISCLAIMER - I DO NOT OWN FABLE 2 OR ANY OF ITS CHARACTERS!!! I ONLY OWN THE PLOT OF THIS FANFICTION AND MY VERSION OF SPARROW. (Though i would love to own Reaver.)**

**Chapter One: Approaching the pirate**

Bloodstone was among the vilest of towns. No matter what time of day you arrived, a dark cloud seemed to forever loom over the criminal infested port. The narrow streets homed shabby buildings and dingy stalls, all over looked by that dreary manor on the hill. Prostitutes of both genders seemed to lurk in every corner, revealing themselves to passersby, trying to charm gold out of them in exchange for some 'excitement'.

Drunken pirates staggered by down near the waterfront, shouting insults at various locals who stood waiting for their mayor's return. However, one drunken man turned his attention to a cloaked figure passing by. He could tell she was a woman by the shape of her body, slim hips, and the way she walked. Elegance surrounded the stranger, she certainly didn't belong. "Oi girly," the man called to her. She stopped and turned slightly, "Fancy a bit of rough and tumble wit' ol' Geordie?"

She carried on walking, ignoring the other drunken men's wolf whistles and cooing. She did not bother herself with a response, she was known for her little words. Oh, how she hated Bloodstone! Not only because of the rowdy and unethical inhabitants, but that cold atmosphere which haunted the port. Among the scent of salty air was the smell of death, the stench of despair. How much innocence had been lost here, in every sense of the word? How many souls have shattered in this place, never to be the same again?

She stood at the edge of the waterfront, blending in with a crowd of villagers, eagerly waiting for their leader's return. Many of the town tarts were now hurriedly whispering among each other, each sentence seemed to end in a fit of giggles. Sparrow turned her attention to the ship being docked. Her eyebrow rose in disbelief. _Bit shabby for Reaver's taste, _she thought, scanning the pirate's new ship. He had obviously run into trouble coming back. She noticed several dents on the left side, and the mast seemed slightly scorched.

Reaver was one of the most difficult individuals she had ever dealt with. As she watched him, leaning over the side, that obnoxious smirk on his face, her mind wandered back. She remembered being excited when Hammer and she went into discussion about him in Brightwood. The very thought brought mirth to her; she smiled to herself, how stupid she had been. Oh, the longing she had to meet someone who knew the joy of holding a pistol between their fingers, the smooth metal brushing against their skin. The vibrations it gave when you pulled the trigger, the bliss of the shot. All that slipped away when she had walked into that man's study a year and a half ago.

Instead she met a man whose heart seemed to be ice. The arrogance, the vanity, the selfishness! He, a pirate she had never even heard of, dared call her 'nobody'. The countless slaves she had rescued, the amount of human lives she had saved. She could have wiped out Albion with a glance, bring fear to people's hearts. But she choose the path of righteousness. Ten years she spent, in that spire. The sounds of the sobbing men would never be washed away. The sounds of broken souls, slowly going insane within the growing walls...

She shuddered as it passed her mind; the pain of the spire had never truly left her. Yet, they were spared, they were saved. Her eyes focused again on Reaver, who still was leaning over the side, watching while his fellow crew members heaved the 'merchandise' they had 'acquired' on their journey. She watched him, hatred embedded within her stare. How could he live with himself?

Every day she was tortured by the choice she took, the sacrifice she had made. By allowing so many to live, she had actually allowed Rose to remain dead. And Charlie, her faithful companion, who was forever by her side now lay to rest in Bower Lake. As she stared at Reaver, one word seemed to echo in her mind, BARNUM! A man she called friend, a man she was partnered in business with. Murdered in cold blood in front of her very eyes, he was not even given a chance. By that man, the third hero, her future ally...

Why was she about to save the life of a man she hated?

It was only fair, part of her argued. She would have been defeated by Lucien without him. In fact, technically he was the one to kill Lucien. He was her ally, it seemed only fair that if she knew his life was in danger she would at least warn him. But part of her wanted to leave, leave him be and pray the assassin misses. She remembered the last time she had contact with Reaver, four months ago if she recalled correctly. She received a letter, inviting her to one of his parties; she was 'guest of honour'. She replied by telling him where he could insert his invite, luckily he never replied back.

Her left hand itched, millimetres away from her belt. _You could save the assassin the job,_ a small voice whispered, _you could do it. Avenge Barnum! _Her left hand shook as it gripped around the pistol, her eyes looking straight ahead. The voice was right, she could end it. She removed the pistol; she could kill the man responsible for the deaths of possibly thousands of innocents. She could avenge Barnum, it would be quick, she was a good shot. She could end his eternal life with just pulling the trigger.

But she was forgetting one thing, she was Sparrow. She attached the gun back onto her belt, she was a hero. It was her job to save lives, even the lives that did not deserve to be saved. So she watched Reaver leave his ship. His dark hair was blown back as he faced the wind; his handsome features seemed as radiant as ever. Two girls beside Sparrow swooned at the sight of him, yet Sparrow stood unmoved. She was never fazed by his beauty, even when she first met him. She ignored all suggestive marks he made; she always sensed he was never to be trusted.

_Remember that girl,_ the voice taunted her, _Remember that innocent girl he forced you to sacrifice, remember how she cried. _Another reason for hating Reaver. Sparrow remember how she feared losing her strength, her youth. An advantage Lucien could gain how he would be able to crush her. The taunting voice played a major role in that event. Sparrow remembered placing the seal in the girl's hands, the fear in her eyes. How Sparrow mouthed her apology and stood back, letting the shadows rob the girl of her youth. How she screamed for her parents, nothing could ever justify her choice.

"Enough," Sparrow murmured to herself, as she cast her eyes around her, scanning the dreary landscape for any sign of the assassin. Her eyes caught sight on someone, hidden behind a crowd of drunken pirates who had just exited The Leper's Arms. He was tall, wearing a black bandana wrapped around his head. His clothes were dark, he blended well. His gaze was fixated on Reaver, who was walking up the stone steps beside her. At first she suspected him to be another lustful Bloodstoner but then she noticed his hand was wrapped around a pistol similar to hers.

Reaver was now making his way to the civilians, oblivious to the fact he could die within minutes. He passed her, the scent of exotic spices travelled with him. He glanced towards her for a second, noticing she was not local but was soon distracted by the cooing of one of the town tarts. Sparrow smiled under her cloak; thankfully he had not recognised her.

She walked along the waterfront, her eyes never leaving the suspected assassin. She seemed to weave in and out of sight among the crowds, so not to draw attention to herself. Her blue orbs never left the man, who seemed too preoccupied watching Reaver. She gripped her pistol tighter, keeping it concealed under her cloak. She moved closer, but not too close. She did not wish to have any contact with Reaver what so ever. She was using all her will power not to kill him herself.

The assassin had positioned himself well. He was well out of range to be shot, using those around him as a shield. Any attempt to shoot him would most likely end in tragedy for those around him. She cursed the coward under her breath, and then glanced back at Reaver who was flaunting himself foolishly. In a way he deserved to be shot.

The assassin had seen his advantage, and raised the pistol. No-one around had noticed, all too distracted by Reaver. She looked around helplessly; there was no time to warn the thief. With little hesitation and much haste, she regrettably flung herself upon the pirate, knocking him to the ground. The shot was fired and she could feel the bullet pass by her, missing by inches. The heat of the air trailing behind that tiny piece of metal mentally scorched her.

The cloak slipped down, her flaxen hair fell from the hood. Her eyes met Reaver's; his dark eyes looked up at her in confusion for a moment. When realisation hit him, a small smirk played on his lips, "Why Sparrow, long time no see my dear. I must say, there was no need to pin me down, I am willing you know."

"Oh, shut up you fool!" she snapped, the crowd had now scattered. Screaming and shouting echoed the port. She lifted herself off of Reaver, and took a shot towards the assassin. She missed, and the assassin's laughter blended with the screams.

"The great Sparrow," he sneered, his eyes following the woman, now without her hood. "I should have known you would have turned up. Well, two birds with one stone." He fired his pistol; she flung herself sideways in order to dodge the speeding bullet. Again, she took her best shot and missed. Anger arose in her chest; her skill was the most practiced of all her abilities.

She raised her Master Katana and lunged towards the assassin, slicing him between the shoulder blades. He cried out in pain, blood splashed upon the cobble road. In anger, the assassin smacked her with his fist, knocking her to the ground. The pistol flew out of her hand over the edge and with a splash landed within the murky water below.

"Damn!" snarled Sparrow then turned to the hero of skill who stood watching the battle with slight amusement. "Reaver, are you the hero of skill or not!? JUST SHOOT HIM!"

The assassin turned towards the pirate, "Forgot about you for a second, mind waiting there a minute while I finish her off?"

Reaver waved his hand towards her, "Be my guest, though I must warn you she can be vivacious when she wants to."

Sparrow raised herself with much haste, and kicked the assassin while he was off his guard. He lost balance and fell, disarming him from his pistol as it fell on the cobbled road. She picked the pistol up and shot, this time she did not miss. The assassin shuddered for a second, his eyes wide with disbelief but then went limp.

"He cannot say I didn't warn him," Reaver commented from behind her.

Sparrow stood staring at the body for a second, then turned to Reaver who stood watching the scene behind her. She took a step towards him, wanting to cause him as much pain as possible then stopped herself halfway through the violent thoughts. "Well that's over," then sarcastically added, "Thank you so much Reaver for your help!"

She brushed her fingers against her bloody and swollen lip, her eyes never leaving Reaver, trying to express as much hate through her stare as possible. He merely smirked, "Too entertaining for me to participate," he raised his eyebrow, "I must say though, I am surprised you're here my dear. This must be the second time you have trudged through Wraithmarsh just to see me."

Her hand curled into a fist in frustration, "I'm not here for a social call Reaver! I'm regrettably here saving your ungrateful hide from assassination when actually I should have just left the assassin to his job!"

Reaver opened his mouth to reply but a false lofty voice cooed, "Oh Reaver!" Out of one of the narrow streets, a scantily dressed female approached them. Her long black locks curled around her heart-shaped face, shadowing her dark makeup. "I've 'ad this terrible ache 'ere eva since you left," the prostitute walked forward, placing her hand over her heart and winked, "Maybe you would be able to kiss it betta."

"Well," Reaver turned away from Sparrow, and walked to meet the prostitute, "We are going to have to sort that out. What sort of gentlemen would leave a gorgeous lady in pain?" He heard Sparrow mutter something behind him. "I apologize Sparrow, maybe you would like to-"he turned around to see the shape of the young woman disappearing towards Wraithmarsh.


	2. Heroes and Gargoyles

**Notes : I apologize if this chapter is slightly rushed, I was working on my English at the same time. Silly me, hope it does not put anyone off the story.**

**Rogue Rikku: Thank you so much, and do not worry, Reaver will make his appearance very, very soon. And even if an angry mob comes to my house and demands I quit this story, I will continue xD**

**Starlesswolf: Thank you very much, hope this chapter is fine by you.**

**Jenny: You little attention seeker! xD Thank you for the review and I really am glad you read this story even though you have no clue what Fable is. See you tomorrow!**

**Derek: You are still alive aren't you? xD**

**Chapter two: Heroes and Gargoyles**

Now Oakfield was one of the most beautiful of all towns. Though many outsiders saw it as a simple farming district, Sparrow had seen its true potential the moment she had stepped into the bountiful beauty which surrounded the place. The townspeople, though may not all be the brightest, sure were friendly enough. Sparrow was proud to call it home, and even though Bowerstone may have been her birth place, Oakfield was the place which had stolen her heart.

The air was almost magical, scented with various smells. The smell of fresh spring flowers blooming under the sun haunted the many paths. The smell of fresh crops hung over the fields. The less pleasant smells were usually hidden among the cottages on the outskirts of Rookridge and Oakfield. The sounds were rather pleasant in Oakfield too. The gentle rippling of the river which ran past the Sandgoose was rather relaxing to many of the outsiders. To the townspeople themselves, the sound was one they had grown use to, like the ticking of a clock. At first, the sound draws attention to the object, but afterwards became part of the surroundings.

The Sandgoose itself was a proud building. From the smooth stone floors, which were comforts to the many feet which passed through its doors, to the dark wooded staircase and its matching walls, was the feeling of a simple life. The atmosphere was friendly, harmless some would say. This was why Sparrow loved Oakfield; the tranquil surroundings took her mind off the subjects which tormented her every day.

Almost half of the town's men crowded around the tavern that beautiful evening, all hoping to catch a glimpse of the angelic barmaid who was working. As the sun lowered in the sky, the final beams of sunshine crept through the windows by the Sandgoose's rafters, shining upon the young barmaid behind the counter. After her most recent visit to the temple of light, her peachy skin now seemed to have a healthy glow about it, causing many of the men to sigh blissfully when they set eyes upon her.

That was another thing Sparrow loved, her job. Bartending was so simple, so easy and so profitable. Despite many of the suggestive marks from the few rowdy men (and woman) in the town, she was treated fairly. She smiled at her audience, her long flaxen hair swaying slightly as she poured. It was rather skilful, the way she twisted the glass when she poured, sliding it against the oak counter into the hands of the customers.

"Slow down girl," Ernie the innkeeper called to her, watching her from the other side of the counter, "You're pouring way too fast! We don't have that many customers you know."

She stopped, "Sorry about that got a little carried away." A grandfather clock chimed from upstairs, "Guess that's my shift over then Ernie."

He gave her a wheezy chuckle, "Aye it is Sparrow," she jumped over the bar when Ernie's head was turned and grabbed her black coat from the coat stand. She ignored the wolf whistles from some of the men as she put it on. Just as she was about to leave, Ernie called her back, "Wait, Sparrow!"

She turned, "Yes Ernie?"

The elderly man stood still, scratching his bald head, "You will be in tomorrow, no sudden important stuff you'll need to attend to."

Sparrow bit her lip, she wanted to yell at him, scream that she cannot control her duties of being a hero, but instead answered what he wanted to hear, "Yes, I will."

"Good 'cause we'll need you."

"I promise I will."

She left without hearing Ernie moan about her other promises. It was not her fault that bandits had decided to attack Bowerstone market, or a group of gypsies at Bower Lake had been kidnapped. It was not her fault that so many deeds needed to be performed at the same time; it was not her fault that her job comes second to those activities. She sighed; he just did not understand the life of a hero.

She walked down the dusty path, with pink blossomed trees on either side of her. She could hear the town crier in the distance calling, "Shops are now closing!" She paused when she reached the statue of a young girl, around seventeen she would say. Her hair was tied back in a long ponytail: her face wore a serene expression, gazing into the distance, with a small smile. That was the look of a young girl who had no idea what cruel fates the future had in hold for her. As Sparrow watched the stone version of her younger self, she could not help wondering, _if I had taken a different path, would my sister be with me? Would my faithful companion be bounding by my very side this moment?_

She shook her head, her eyes tearing away from the stone girl with the pauper clothes. She carried on walking, passing the closing stalls as she slowly walked down the dusty path. She ignored all greetings to her, trying to lose herself in her own world. A world where her faithful Charlie strutted next to her, his tongue hanging out of his mouth as he panted in the heat. A world where Rose would be waiting for her at home.

Her world faded for a moment, as she looked down between the cottages by the beach._ I wonder if that sculptor is still around. _A small smile played on her lips as an idea crossed her mind, maybe she could get a statue of herself to put in that empty plinth on Bloodstone's waterfront. That would really piss Reaver off. She would do anything to wipe that obnoxious, cocky smirk off his face. But then again, it would just give him an excuse to come down to Oakfield to shoot her, and she was silently praying their paths would never cross again.

She arrived at her cottage, located within the cluster of similar cottages down by the beach. She retrieved the key from her coat pocket and proceeded, entering her home, **The House of Sock.** She immediately made her way to the small fireplace at the base of the stairs. A bookcase stood at either side of the roaring fire, she picked up the first book that came within her grip. Comfortably setting herself in her red, slightly moth eaten armchair, she began to read. **Living forever- The Immortalists...**how ironic!

"_**Oh it's you,"**_a voice sneered out of nowhere. _**"I was wondering what that stench was."**_ Sparrow ignored the hidden gargoyle.

*********************************************************************************************************************************************

Sparrow was known for her heavy sleeping. She could sleep through an apocalypse, well, that is what Garth stated in the hero's guild. She was sure he exaggerated about the length of time it took him to wake her, though he claims he did not. Oh Garth, she remembered him well. Despite the slow year and a half that has passed, she could remember Garth from his tired eyes to his dark skin with aluminous blue will lines as if she was looking at him. And Hammer, oh she remembered Hammer alright. That girl had so much spirit in her, so much enthusiasm. Sparrow's dream contained them that night, all four heroes in fact. All of them stood on that hill, their destinies chosen for them.

"_**Oi Lazy Bones!" **_a shrill voice called, _**"Gonna get up now ya lazy bugger!!"**_

Unfortunately, being a deep sleeper did not bless her with the ability to ignore a persistent gargoyle. She woke up with a start, the book she was reading which had been lying on her lap fell onto the floor. At first she was confused about what had happened, but seeing that no light was shining through the curtains, she suddenly realised what awoke her.

She stood up, "Listen here you stupid piece of rock!" she cried out, looking around the cottage wildly, "I swear if you wake me up one more time-"

"_**Ye'll do what? Throw yer teddy bear at me," **_the hidden gargoyle sneered, _**"Please, I've seen moss more intimidating than ya!"**_

Sparrow growled, reaching for her pistol which was attached snugly to her belt, "I swear! I don't care if I have to tear this cottage brick by brick, I will find you and blast you to hell!"

"_**Oh oh the mighty hero's gonna blast me, oh help!"**_

Sparrow ignored the stone's cackling laughter. _**"Just awoke ya to tell ya that there's two people lurkin' among the cottages."**_

Sparrow put away her pistol, annoyed at herself for her sudden temper "Probably just some drunk locals, what did they look like?"

"_**A blue fella and a large woman."**_

"A what fellow?" she rolled her eyes, "Just stay quiet for the rest of the night, I don't know about stones but heroes need their sleep."

"_**Yer, you get yer beauty sleep. By the looks of it, ya got a lot to catch up on!"**_

The door rattled, causing both Sparrow and her mysterious Gargoyle to remain silent. She stood still, removing the pistol once again from her belt. The rattling was soon followed by three loud knocks, knocks so powerful the room shook. Fear crept inside Sparrow, her eyes transfixed on the door. _Perhaps if I stay silent then whoever it is will leave, _But then her mind argued, _or they will break the door down._

Her _beloved _gargoyle was the first to react, _**"We're not in so jus' go away with ya!"**_

"Sparrow?" a familiar voice called.

First Sparrow seemed too shocked to speak; the past seemed to be crawling back into her life, "Hammer?"

Sparrow slowly made her way to the door; the shock of what she could open the door to made her quite hesitant. _If I open this door now, Avo knows what I'm going to let into my life._ Her hand shook slightly as she reached for the door knob, twisting it almost regrettably but what she saw on the other side made all the fear wash away.

There, at her very door step stood two people who were once important factors in her life. On the right side of the pair was Garth. He looked just like she remembered, from his tired eyes to his dark skin. A monocle sat snugly by one of his eyes, wedged between the eye and the nose. The wise man smiled at his old ally.

On the left side of the pair stood Hammer. Like Sparrow's gargoyle stated previously, she was indeed a large woman. Her giant hammer was slung over her shoulders, supported by two very muscular arms. Despite her muscular, large appearance, Sparrow always remembered her to be a bright young woman, and the smile she wore when she saw sparrow proved her to be still in good spirits.

Hammer pulled Sparrow into a hug almost immediately after she opened the door, the woman's thick copper hair entwined with Sparrow's flaxen waves. "Long time no see," she marvelled, "Well, you gave us a right fright, thought we had the wrong house."

"Gave you a fright!?" Sparrow laughed, more out of nerves than mirth, "How do you think I felt?"

"Yeah, sorry about that."

Sparrow moved aside, granting the two old friends safe passage into her home. Sparrow didn't realise what she had let walk back into her life. Life was never simple...


	3. The Missing Hero

**I apologize for the long delay, lady luck is not smiling down upon me. This chapter has been a pain in the...neck to write, hope you enjoy. Any mistakes, please point them out though I think I have checked it...to death! xD**

**Rogue Rikku: I doubt very much Sparrow is going to make it easy for him. Hee hee, thank you for the review :D**

**D3R3K: Thank you!**

**Skreech: Thank you for your review, and I had to add a gargoyle. They provide much entertainment around Albion...and are fun to shoot :P**

**Chapter Three: The Missing Hero**

Sparrow stood by the rusty stove, heating the kettle. Garth and Hammer sat at the luxury table, waiting for the young woman to speak. Sparrow however remained silent, still recovering from the latest blast from the past. Sparrow knew something lurked on the horizon, she could feel it. It would be the only explanation to why these two had travelled so far. Hammer, yearning for the silence to end began the conversation, "Nice place you've got here," she looked around the cramped room, "Strange furnishings, mixture of qualities."

"Yes," Sparrow mused, refusing to look at her fellow heroes, "Things break easy, replace the new with the old. I never saw the point in spending lots of gold on such unnecessary items."

"Unnecessary?" Hammer asked in confusion, but dropped the subject as she glanced around the unkempt space by the door, "Live on your own?" Her eyes travelled to a wicker basket by the doorway, "What's the-"she paused when she saw a blue rubber ball nested within the fabrics which lay within, "Ah I see..." _Charlie_

Garth remained silent, his eyes surveying Sparrow's turned figure. He noticed she was quite a bit thinner than the last time he saw her, he wondered if her choice at the spire had weighed her down. "How has everything been in the past year?" He smiled, expecting Sparrow to turn to her guests but she remained tending to the kettle.

"And a half," Sparrow added, "Same old, you know. An odd quest here and there, various slaves to rescue," Garth noticed the resent in her voice, her hand shook as she lifted the steaming kettle, "How was Samarkand?"

Garth chuckled, "it was refreshing to return home, I must say I had missed it. Mostly pleasant," his featured darkened slightly along with the blue will lines that were etched on his body, "Apart from my encounter with Reaver that did not end pleasantly. Well, not on his part anyway."

"What happened?" asked Sparrow, pausing.

"I was visiting some old friends who were staying at a nearby tavern by the port. Interesting men, I must say found some fascinating artefacts linked with the old kingdom," Garth scowled, "Until they were stolen by some smugglers who had recently visited the town."

"Let me guess," Hammer said, her eyes rolling, "It was our Mr. Ego-centric."

"Correct," Garth said, the scowl still on his face, "I had the misfortunate to come across him at the tavern-"Garth paused, a look of disgust flooded his face "-with the innkeeper. After heavy discussion and several attempts to kill me, myself and a bunch of locals ordered him to leave. I had no choice in the end, I got my will involved."

Sparrow smiled at the image of Reaver getting his hide flared by Garth however, it was interrupting by Hammer stating, "Sounds more interesting than my time, honestly, I at least thought these monks would have interesting activities but no! Before I could join them, I had to go through training, which involved spiritual healing," she rolled her eyes, "Honestly, what good is sitting on a sand bank in the freezing cold with your eyes shut going to do? Trying to channel our anger, it provoked my anger more than anything!"

Garth scratched his pointed chin thoughtfully, where several silver hairs rested, "I believe you will need to gain more patience before you can join these monks, maybe if you showed more tolerance, they would be more willing to let you join them."

Hammer opened her mouth to argue but was interrupted by Sparrow, who whipped round and asked "Could one of you please explain why you are here!?"

Her sudden, cold outburst seemed to puzzle the two heroes. Sparrow had fought so hard to leave the past behind her, picking up the pieces that were left in the four heroes' aftermath. All the hope she had of seeing them again diminished over time yet they made their way back. It was too confusing, too much for Sparrow to grasp. The sudden rush of emotions overwhelmed her; she had no time for formalities.

"We apologize, we never really thought," even Garth seemed to be lost for words.

Sparrow turned back to the stove, "Anyone for tea?"

"Got anything stronger?" asked Hammer, who was wounded by her friend's lack of affection. Garth gave her a sharp look, "What? When I tell her about what Theresa said-"

SMASH!

The kettle fell out of Sparrow's hands, landing on the floor before her feet. It smashed due to the metal which had been weakened by age. Boiling water oozed from the cracks, causing Sparrow to slip backwards, she raised her hand and tried to balance herself by resting it upon the first surface it came into contact with, which was unfortunately the stove. She cursed as her hand came into contact with the red hot stove, pulling it away almost immediately.

Garth stood up and made his way to Sparrow, examining her hand. His hand felt rough against hers, "Minor burns," he muttered, "You should-"Sparrow pulled her hand away, anger arose in her chest, "Look, forget the hand, what about Theresa?"

Garth sighed, "Well, that is a long story."

**********************

Sparrow sat by the fireplace in her usual seat, Hammer standing beside her. Hammer gave her friend a warm smile but Sparrow turned away, pretending she had not seen it. Garth paced the cramped space between the stairs and the door, "Are you sure you don't want anything for that hand?"

"No," Sparrow answered curtly, "Now please continue."

Garth sighed, "Very well. It started..."

"**In a far away land," **the gargoyle sneered**, "There's no need for fairytales ol' man, just get to the good stuff."**

"Shut up you blasted rock!" Sparrow snarled.

"What the hell is that thing anyway?" asked Hammer, looking around for the hidden gargoyle. It cackled at her half-hearted attempts.

"A gargoyle someone has planted on me for a very cruel joke, can't find the blasted thing anywhere."

"**And neva will ya daft goon!"**

"As I was saying," Garth continued, ignoring the rock's cackling laughter, "While I was spending time with some associates in Samarkand, Theresa contacted me. She told me an old danger has begun to rise in Albion, an old menace that is seeking revenge. She told me they have a plan, a plan that will bring great evil to the world. They want to make sure no heroes get in their way, you probably heard about the recent assassination attempt on Reaver?"

"Heard about it, I was the one who stopped it, suppose Reaver took the credit,"

"Most likely," Hammer stated, leaning against the small fireplace, "How I would love to connect my hammer and his head together."

"Yes, yes, Reaver is one of the most loathsome beings on the world," Garth looked at them impatiently, "As I was saying-"

"And you call me impatient," huffed Hammer.

Electric charges travelled around Garth's dark hands, causing both of them to be silent, "She said only the four heroes can stop it, and to meet her in wraithmarsh by the cullisgate. She said there is a hidden cave; she will direct us from the cullisgate."

"So you travelled back to Albion, and Hammer, did she contact you too?"

"Sure did," Hammer told Sparrow, "Got a hell of a fright I did. The monks thought I was going mad, talking to myself every flippen' place I went. After a long lecture, miss 'bundle of laughs' teleported me to Garth, we thought we should get you."

Sparrow's anger arose once again, _why Theresa didn't contact me herself, Avo only knows! _Truth be told Sparrow missed her old guardian terribly, she loved Theresa like a mother. Not that Theresa was affectionate like one. She had raised Sparrow in anger, raised her to kill Lucien- warmth was not a quality she needed. And as this year and a half went slowly by, she was haunted by Theresa's last words to her, _**"But the spire is mine-be gone!" **_Sparrow in the end had concluded she was nothing more than a weapon in Theresa's eyes. And this broke the young woman's heart. And over time, this betrayal had made the flaxen woman grow bitter to the world around her.

"So you came to take me to the Cullisgate, fine by me, we can go now if you want?" Sparrow said eagerly, she was looking forward to a _nice_ little chat with Theresa.

Hammer and Garth looked at each other, and she noticed Hammer had moved a considerable bit away from her, almost hiding behind Garth. Garth looked at Sparrow nervously, he knew her tempers well, "Actually, we need you to do something for us first."

He looked at Hammer who shrugged and muttered, "It's your funeral," and then she disappeared off to the kitchen. "Well, I stated before, we need all four heroes-"

Sparrow foresaw what he was about to say, "No no no no-"

"-and we are missing one," Garth finished.

Sparrow gave Garth a cold look, ignoring the twitching in her left hand she said, "Why didn't you collect him on the way here? Why am I left to do the dirty work?"

"Well if he sees me, he will shoot me on sight," Garth told the angry woman, "And well, if Hammer goes, well-"

Hammer returned from the kitchen, "Yes!? What happens if I go!?"

"We all know you have as much patience as he does, let's just say it would end up bad on both ways," he turned back to Sparrow, "And Sparrow, you were able to handle him last time, I believe you would be the best person to collect him."

Sparrow thought for a moment, "What if he refuses to go?"

"Do everything in your power to make him come," Garth paused, "Actually, that wasn't the best thing to say. I'm sure you will be fine, you seem to be the only one of us he won't kill the moment we walk through the door."

Sparrow almost growled her next words, "I think it more likely that I will kill him on sight," she paused, she had never told the other two heroes about the girl she sacrificed or Barnum, the rage in her chest seemed to melt away, replaced by a sadness. She looked up at Garth's puzzled face, "I'll do it, but for the record this is the last favour you two are EVER getting from me!"

Garth smiled, his teeth seemed pure white next to his skin, "I knew you wouldn't fail us."

Sparrow looked at both of them, "I might as well get started, I'll go via Westcliff, it would be easier."

"What right now?" Hammer asked, "But what about sleep?"

"I'll sleep on the carriage," she replied bluntly, walking out the front door, leaving the two heroes to stare after her.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************

Jill, one of Bloodstones most notorious whores, found herself peering through Reaver's iron gates yet again. Jill was well-known throughout Bloodstone for her services, noted as one of the most popular whores on the streets. Many men and women who had hired her found themselves lusting for her exotic nights frequently yet unable to afford her rising prices. That is, everyone except Reaver. In Jill's small world, only two things mattered to her, Money and passion, these two things made her small world complete and with Reaver, these two things were possible at the same time.

Another thing about Jill is she doesn't fare well to people who stop her getting what she wanted. Whether it was competition in the business, a rowdy Bloodstoner who does not play fair or some out of town tart who tries to take her place within Reaver's social circle. Whatever or whoever it was, Jill wasn't frightened of 'removing' them out of the way, like she had done in the past, it helped being _very _friendly with the society. But as she stood at Reaver's iron gates, her body was paralysed with fear. She was terrified she had done something to upset Reaver, as he had hosted a party and did not invite her. Another thing Jill didn't fare well with, being left out.

Footsteps behind her made her head quickly turn, causing several dark curls to fall from her velvet bonnet. There standing behind her was a young, short balding man, who was twisting a heavy metal club in his hands. Jill shrieked and shielded herself, half expecting him to clobber her to death for gold. "Take it!" she cried, holding out her purse, "Take it! It's all I 'ave, please jus' take it!"

The man stared at her puzzled, but did as she told him. He took the purse from her grip, and watched the small woman cower before him. "Jee thanks!" He was puzzled of what had just happened and not being the brightest of souls, just believed the crazy woman was being kind. After all, how was he to recognise kindness when the streets of Bloodstone were deprived of such humanity? "That's real nice of ya ma'am. Even my ol' laid weren't so nice ta give me money on ma first job."

"W-wait, y-you weren't tryin' ta rob me?"

The man raised on eyebrow, "Nah, I'm Reaver's new guard."

Jill raised herself, her face flushed with embarrassment. She snatched her purse from the man's grip and growled, "What 'appened ta Reaver's las' guard?"

Her question was answered almost immediately. Reaver's iron gates opened and two muscular pirates approached them, carrying what looked like a body. As they came closer, the first man nodded to the two individuals while the second gave them a sickening smile. "Good day ma'am," he said with his rasping voice, holding the legs of the body while the other man held the corpse by the shoulders. Reaver's new guard gasped when he saw the cause of death, a bullet to the head. "You Reaver's new boy?"

The guard nodded, his eyes wide with horror, the rasping man sniggered, and said "Good luck to you my good man. Serve your master well, or you'll end up like poor Eddie here."

Jill swooned, "Reaver could be my master any day!"She sighed, all the frustration she felt earlier seemed to wash away, "What did Eddie do?"

"Let's just say you're master has little patience," he sniggered as the guard winced, "You'd be lucky if ya lasted five seconds."

"Hurry up Garry," snarled the first, who had shown no interest in the conversation, "This guy ain't light!"

The two pirates walked off, carrying the body off to the dock where they could 'dispose' of the late Eddie. The guard's eyes were wide with horror and his first instinct was to run, yet where would he go? The guard met the whore's eyes, yet hers were not filled with fear but excitement. He gulped and walked towards the open gates, pausing at the final step and turned to the smitten whore, "is it true 'e's mad?"

"Who Reaver?" she paused then shrugged, "Who cares? 'E's rich!"

"Well, I 'eard 'e's mad," he shivered,"If ya need me ma'am, I'll be in Westcliff." He turned, prepared to run but Jill grabbed his arm and hissed, "Don't be silly!"

The guard paused, a sudden thought came to his mind, "Wanna come wit' me?"

Jill let go of him and brushed her fingers through her dark locks, and smiled, the dark makeup she wore seem to add the raunchiness to her facial features, "Do I look ok?"

The guard's eyes hovered over her bodice and down to her tart's skirt. He met her enchanting hazel eyes and winked, "Smashin' lass!"

"Thought so," she put on her lofty voice and linked arms with the nervous guard who seemed to blush at her touch, "Shall we?"

The two of them walked through Reaver's gates and around the circular structure which was guarded by the stone serpents. It was dark so the guard could barely make out any of the decoration and was dragged forward by Jill, who was eager to see Reaver. The guard seemed to become more hesitant with each passing step, frightened of the man he was about to face. He looked over at the whore, who was quite the opposite; she seemed to long for the notorious pirate. _'E can't be tha' bad if a smashin' lass like 'er seems to like 'im._

As they approached his door, they could hear the pirate's raised voice echo the mansion. For the first time since entering Reaver's gardens, Jill was frightened. She whimpered, clutching the equally terrified guard as they peered through the door. "'E's in his study," Jill whispered, "Wonder who 'e's talkin' ta."

His raised voice did not loosen; it remained angry and seemed to rise with every sentence. Jill seemed to catch only a few words like 'blind hag' and 'sightless witch' but these words meant nothing to her. She tried to grasp their meaning, trying to string other words she heard along with them but nothing seemed to make sense. Perhaps Reaver was mad. Then again, hadn't she always known that? She had been with him, and she had heard him cry out in his sleep. Talk to things that weren't there. The whores often spoke about the odd things that would happen to Reaver if you were around long another to spy them. How he would whisper names in his sleep, names of no meaning. Names of things which had long passed names like Oakvale...

The study door opened and Reaver emerged, cursing a name under his breath. "She brought this," he snarled under his breath, "Should have known something like this would happen when she appeared." His dark eyes locked onto the two cowering figures outside the door, his frowning features twisted into a smile, "Well hello there, fancy that, visitors at this time."

All fear washed away from Jill once again and she swooned at his smile, "Reaver," she purred in her lofty tone, "It's been too long."

Reaver seemed to ignore her, his eyes studying the nervous guard. "You my new man?" the guard nodded and winced at the man's smile, "Good, I was hoping you would toddle along soon," he walked towards them and nodded, his eyes seemed to linger on the man's club, "Strange weapon of choice," Reaver raised his eyebrows, "As long as you can wield it."

The guard nodded," yes, I can," the guard shuddered, "Yes sir."

"Ah excellent, though I will miss Edward, strapping young lad," Reaver sighed, "May have been slightly hasty but honestly, I couldn't put up with that damn sniffing. I know he has a cold but could he learn to control it," Reaver looked as if he was trying to remember something, "Ah yes, in the next few days I am most likely expecting a visitor, one that is not welcome-"

The guard stood, trying to take Reaver's words in as the pirate continued to speak but the fear which had built up inside of him was becoming increasingly overwhelming. The words were drowned in a sea of panic, a chain of unhealthy thoughts. The guard nodded along with the pirate's words, not brave enough to ask the pirate about what he had just said. Something about a mage? A seer? A Sparrow? His words made no sense to the guard, and as he looked over at the whore, he noticed (among her sulking of course) that she too was puzzled at his strange words.

"Do you understand that?" Reaver looked at the guard, who tried to keep the confusion out of their eyes. Though the true answer was no, the guard gently said, "Yes sir." Reaver smiled and clapped his hands together, "Good, good, now chop chop, vamoose," he turned to Jill, "I have a lady to entertain."

The guard left almost immediately to begin his duty of guarding Reaver's mansion. After the door shut behind him, Reaver lifted Jill's hand and kissed it, her hazel orbs loosing themselves in his dark ones. She giggled, and pouted, "I thought you 'ad forgotten me then Reaver."

He let go of her hand and watched her swoon, his eyes bright with a malicious gleam, "As if I could forget you Ann," he winked, "You are my favourite."

Jill crossed her arms, her dignity was slightly crushed "I'm Jill!"

Reaver paused, trying to find a way around his fault, "Of course you are," his right hand slowly made its way to the holster on his belt, wrapping itself around the handle of his Dragonstomper, "Of course you are."

Jill saved her life, without even knowing it. Denying Reaver could ever forget her name, she giggled and said, "You tease!" She placed a hand on his shoulder, giggling furiously, "Like you could forget ma name."

Reaver let go of his gun and instead caressed his fingers of his left hand against her cheek, "Never will I forget your name, Jill."

"_**Reaver, listen to me!"**_came Theresa's voice from within Reaver's head, causing him to growl angrily and spin around, looking to see if the blind seer was anywhere in sight. Jill gasped and shrunk back, whimpering as Reaver grabbed his pistol.

"Please don't shoot me," begged Jill, her hands raised in surrender, "Please..."

"Oh, shut up you silly girl," snapped Reaver, putting his pistol back in its holster, "I have no desire of shooting you, I just have a _headache."_

Jill straightened up, again feeling foolish but slightly wary, "Need me to kiss it betta?"

Reaver smirked, "That may help," he took the woman's hand, "Shall we?"


	4. Thieves in Satin

**Rogue Rikku - Thank you for your review! Your support means a lot and do not worry, I see challenges in the future ;) But I will not give anything away. Not too much Sparrow and Reaver bonding but the next chapter (which I have written and will be up very soon) does :P I'm rotten, I cannot help it.**

**Chapter four - Thieves in satin **

Once again, Sparrow regrettably found herself in the town of blood. She thanked the captain for the safe voyage but he merely gave her a toothy grin before continuing to walk the wooden dock. Looking down at the beach through the cracks on the wood below her feet, she noticed the sand itself seemed to be as grey as the gloomy sky. Nothing ever looked lively in Bloodstone...apart from its immoral inhabitants and she did not wish to get into that.

She looked up at the dreary manor in the distance; a look of distaste flooded her face. She began to walk up the hill, preparing for what awaited her in that manor...or more to the point _who _waited for her. Her nose crinkled in disgust as she passed various shops and rancid smelling houses on her way up the steep hill which Bloodstone was slanted on. Halfway up, a slick female voice called, "Ready for the best five minutes of your life, I'll make you wail like a banshee." Sparrow gritted her teeth as the prostitute approached her.

Sparrow cursed the foul place under her breath as she chose to ignore the woman, who shouting something at her which Sparrow thankfully did not catch. She had been in this town for less than five minutes and she already wished to leave. Sparrow shook her head, wondering how anyone could find comfort in such a place. When she reached Reaver's iron gates, she paused thoughtfully, wondering how she was going to get Reaver involved. After all, he was not the easiest going of all people.

She made her way through the open gates, walking around a circular structure which stood in the middle of the manor's garden. The statues of serpents surrounded the structure, almost as if they were guardians to the manor, ready to strike at the first sign of trouble. A small pit of envy arose within her, a feeling which was familiar to Sparrow as she watched the people of Albion get on with their lives but it dissolved as soon as she climbed the manor's steps. A guard stood outside, lazily spinning a club in his hands. Upon her approach, the short, balding man whistled.

"Why 'ello girly," he gave vulgar wink, "Come ta play wit' Reaver 'ave ya?" He gave a wheezy laugh, but stopped upon seeing the flaxen woman brush her pistol, which was snugly attached to her belt. "I meant no 'arm," he gave a nervous titter, backing away slightly, "Jus' thought you were another of 'is tarts," Sparrow's eyes flashed angrily, giving an insulted gasp at his word which made the guard whimper and hurriedly added, "but seein' you in the light made me change me mind."

"Is he in?" Sparrow asked, her eyes narrowing as she looked at the cowering guard. She had been riled at the 'tart' comment, "I have matters to discuss with him."

A look of relief swept over the guard's face, "Oh yea', 'e's in but I think 'e may be in bed, las' nigh' was busy if ya catch ma drift."

Sparrow wrinkled her nose in disgust, "I really don't want to know. So he'll be upstairs?"

"'E migh' be in 'is study; 'e normally goes there when 'e can't sleep."

Sparrow thanked the nervous guard and proceeded into the pirate's manor. Expensive furnishings cluttered the entrance hall; she walked among them casting her eyes around the room before knocking at his study door. When no answer was given, she turned the handle and walked in, slight fearful of what she may come across. The study was just as magnificent as she remembered. It was a very large room, surrounded by bookcases and various portraits. She walked to an armchair which sat in front of his glorious fireplace. _How can a pirate afford to live in such a beautiful place Avo only knows...?_

His manor was like a rose among rubble, a beautiful home in a terrible place.

Sparrow could smell the pine wood which seemed to be burning, the smell grew stronger as she approached and haunted the place like an invisible yet beautifully scented cloud. Trophies which Reaver most likely collected from his various voyages hung over the huge fireplace, most of them pistols. The fireplace below them stood taller than herself, which showed it had great height as she was taller than most women she knew. Her eye caught on a piece of parchment that was lying on an end table but was distracted by the grandfather clock chiming.

Sparrow turned and walked out of the study and began to climb the steps which she hoped lead to his bed chambers. She wandered around aimlessly until she found a second flight of stairs. As she began to climb them, she could not help thinking it was rather dark and there was little light to guide her. Squinting in the little light she had, she missed the suit of armour which stood solitary in the corner. She crashed into it, causing it to topple over upon her. Pushing it out of the way, she staggered on, cursing the blasted house in the darkness. When she finally reached the top landing, she noticed two doors. One was open, revealing a beautiful room with a double bed with satin sheets. She poked her head through, catching a quick glance before proceeding to the other.

She knocked lightly at the door, not wanting to barge in and find him doing something which would make her wish she was blind, "Reaver," she called in a whisper, "Reaver, are you in there?"

She heard someone groan from inside the room, "Come back in an hour or two," a drowsy voice answered, "I will have my energy back by then."

"Reaver," she hissed, praying he was alone, "It's me, Sparrow!"

"Oh Sparrow," Reaver replied in the same drowsy voice, making Sparrow realise she must have awoken him. "I'll make an exception for you, knew you would not be able to resist my charm for long."

Sparrow almost growled her next words, "I am here on business Reaver, get up NOW!"

She heard the pirate mumble something, and heard his soft footfalls coming towards the door. She removed her pistol and stepped aside, just in case he was planning to shoot her the moment he saw her. The door opened, and Reaver's head popped around the doorframe, and raised an eyebrow as he looked at Sparrow, "Always a warm welcome with you," he gestured to her gun, "Now, do you mind putting that away my dear, no need to worry, I don't plan on shooting you," he paused and muttered, "Not yet anyway..."

She attached the pistol back onto her belt, knowing she was going to regret the action later. She remained silent, trying to decide how to word what she was going to say, "Reaver, the heroes are needed-"

"Yes, yes as fascinating as what you are about to say sounds," Reaver interrupted in a bored groggy voice, "I have no interest whatsoever. I already told that blind witch of yours I want no association with you lot again," he yawned and threw Sparrow a wink, "Though I would not mind some association with you Sparrow."

She ignored his last comment, a look of disbelief crossed Sparrow's face, "Wait, Theresa contacted you!" Anger and sorrow both stabbed at Sparrow's heart causing the iciness to slip back into her tone as she snarled, "Is she contacting everyone except me!?"

Reaver, who was showing no interest in the conversation, stepped out from the doorway and revealing himself to be wrapped up in a satin duvet. Sparrow's eyes widened in horror when she noticed it seemed to be the only thing he was wrapped in, "Don't you have night clothes or something to wear?"

Reaver shrugged, "I never really feel comfortable in them," he smirked at Sparrow's alarmed face, "Why? Worried the satin may slip?"

"Among other things, honestly what if someone came to visit you?" she paused, "Someone has come to visit you, are you really that shameless?"

He let go of one side of the duvet he was holding up, to brush his dark hair which was sticking up in a ruffled manner. Luckily, the fabric only slipped just passed his shoulder, "Well, normally when someone visits me, it is not really on business...well, unless," Sparrow scowled causing him to abruptly finish. He glared at her, "Now if that is all, please leave before I'm forced to shoot you. I just got this lovely flooring in and I would hate it to be stained on its first week."

Anger pulsed through her veins, "An old enemy has returned? Are you not the slightest bit concerned," she gulped, frightened of tempting fate. She whispered the rest, "Aren't you concerned that it might be Lucien?"

"Why should I care if it is Lucien? The only reason I was in on this whole mess was because you and your clan dragged me into it. He probably will not bother with me." He thought for a moment, "Though, if it is Lucien, I think I should say goodbye to you now, after all, he will want his revenge on you."

"Reaver," she shook her head in disbelief at his stubbornness, "you were the one who KILLED Lucien! There are several reasons you should care, that being one of them," _even though it was meant to be me who shot him,_ "And secondly, you are one of the four heroes and he knows it. Not to mention you helped me to escape last time, and remember all the power Lucien had. Shards, guards, all of those powers he had will come after you. Won't it be safer to have backup?"

Reaver brushed his dark hair back, thinking it over, "You actually make quite a decent argument, I will give you that," he sighed, "What am I going to have to do?"

"We need to find a cave in Wraithmarsh," she told him but stopped when she saw fear flicker through his eyes, "What's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing my dear," he pulled the satin duvet up a little as it was beginning to slip down, "What else?"

"I don't know we're meeting Theresa there. She will tell us everything we need to know."

He stood, thinking the whole ordeal over in his mind, trying to find a way this could benefit him. After mulling over possible ideas, he found none. He rolled his eyes and walked back into his room, slamming the door behind him. He had expected the woman to leave yet he seemed to have forgotten her determination. Sparrow stood outside his door, her mouth slightly open in shock. "Reaver," she snarled, "Reaver, what the hell are you doing?"

"I am going to bed," his voice replied, in the same bored tone he had used previously, "Now please leave, you shouldn't barge in on a man this early in the morning."

"It's two o'clock in the bloody afternoon," Sparrow had to bite her lip in order to stop herself adding _you idle git! _"Reaver, you have to come. All the heroes must come, please Reaver, we must go. Don't make me come in there!" _Please, please don't make me go in there._

Pleading with the uncooperative thief seemed to have no effect. Her mind wandered to the misty marsh she was about to face...apparently alone according to the pirate. What would convince him? What would make him come? The voice inside her head laughing mockingly at her feeble thoughts. _Call yourself a hero, Avo himself must be hanging his head in shame that such a fine hero such as yourself can't even figure out what to do. He's a pirate for the sake of Skorm, think! What could you possibly offer? Apart from the erotic pleasures, what else would please him?_

"So," Sparrow began, for the first time, the taunting voice may have a point, "One hero gone I see. Well, we have Garth. I'm sure we will do alright without you, besides you weren't really much help to begin with."

Reaver chuckled from inside the room, "Nice tactic Sparrow, but please save me your pitiable attempts to dishonour my pride. It is not working..."

"Oh, I didn't mean it like that Reaver," she told the door, "Just, well Garth is fascinated to go. A cave in Wraithmarsh that, according to Theresa, no-one has been in for hundreds of years," _Liar liar, _the voice taunted, _good girl, carry on. _"One could only guess at what sort of artefacts it may contain, being untouched for all those years. Quite interesting to see..."

"You are lying," Reaver's voice tried to state nonchalantly but even he could not hide the fact her words had peaked at his curiosity, "But for argument's sake, if you are telling the truth, what sort of artefacts are you talking about?"

"Avo only knows," Sparrow pretended to think, "Maybe statues or old books which Garth would be pleased to get a hold of, most ancient scrolls are worth a fortune nowadays and are _very _hard to get a hold of. Such valuable items would certainly cause a flutter among many merchants."

This time when he spoke, the interest was crystal clear and a certain note of fascination seemed to linger between his words, "Again, for the argument's sake _I _got a hold of some valuable items, what would you lot say to that?"

Sparrow shrugged, "Could we really do anything? After all, half of it would be worthless to us. Most of it would be left behind anyway, we don't wish to disturb anything, and we're not really plunderers." At those words, the bedroom door opened and Reaver stood, still draped in the satin sheet, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed the flaxen woman. She looked up at him innocently, as if she had no idea why his interest was suddenly perked. "Perhaps I should accompany you after all, besides, you lot would get nowhere without me. But this is the last time I get into one of your tangles," he grinned roguishly, "Unless-"

"No!" Sparrow snapped, holding her hand up, "No no no!"

Reaver raised his arms in the air in a sign of mock surrender, forgetting about the duvet for a moment which slipped down. Sparrow shielded her eyes quickly, before the duvet could slip fully. "Get changed and I'll meet you outside," she found herself muttering, ignoring the pirate's chuckles as he returned to his room. Hearing the faint click of the closing door, she removed her hand from her eyes and retreated down the stairs, but unfortunately found herself tripping over the suit of armour halfway down the stairs.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sparrow remembered the first time she met Reaver as if was only yesterday.

"_Hey mate! You got business with Reaver?" the guard asked the young woman who was standing at the door, excitement bubbling inside of her as she looked up at the manor. "He's through the back," the guard gestured to the open door, and Sparrow cautiously walked through. She found herself in a magnificent study; the roaring fire illuminated the many bookshelves which surrounded the room and portraits of heroes long past. The beautiful rich colours seemed to draw you in, adding certain elegance with an enchanting smell of pine which suffused the air. Among all the beauty, a young man stood in the middle, one foot on a stool. Beside him was a large lump of stone and a sculptor chiselling away._

_For a few moments she just stood there, gazing at the man, a sudden wariness came from nowhere and a tangible feeling of uncertainty lingered within. After the few moments, he noticed her presence. She pulled her hood down, so not to give him the wrong impression of her person. He quickly glanced at her with disinterest but when he saw the flaxen hair fall down her shoulders, he glanced back to her, his eyes surveying her with a lustful gaze she had seen too many times, "Well hello there!"_

_Sparrow nodded and gave the man a warm smile, finally glad that her quest for the three heroes was closing stages. How long she had waited? How long had she trained for this moment? The man's voice brought her thoughts an abrupt end, "Always a nice surprise to have company- I don't get many visitors to my little costal paradise," his eyes lingered away from her face for a moment, "Especially ones who might well redefine a man's concept of paradise."_

_She rolled her eyes, working as a barmaid she was used to these sorts of flirtatious comments. But 'refining a man's concept of paradise' was indeed a new one. He stood still, watching for any reaction but the flaxen woman remained silent, trying not to show amusement as he frowned. He mumbled something under his breath and the only word she seemed to catch was 'pillow'. He straightened up, foot still on the stool, "On the rare occasion that people make it through Wraithmarsh, they're lost, confused, scared..." she stood listening, his deep voice was rather intriguing, "But not you. You're looking for someone. And if you are looking for someone in Bloodstone, let's be honest; you're looking for me."_

_He took his foot off the stool and stood in front of the young Sparrow, his voice took a sterner tone, "But I'm afraid I hate wasting my time on nobodies. That's you."_

_The remark caught her off guard and she blinked at him several times, confused at his sudden change of tone. She opened her mouth but he interrupted before she could get a word in edgeways, "_T_ell you what. Why don't you go out and rescue some travellers, or slay some beasts, or slay some travellers...the details are unimportant." Her eyes narrowed as the man looked down at her as if she were merely a piece of dirt in the wrong place, her left hand twitched, "Prove to me that you're worth dealing with and you'll have my full attention." He gestured to the door with flick of his head, and she found herself being hurried out the study, "That's it. Toot. Scout. Off you go. Vamoose. Geh wag. Allez-vous ons." _

_The moment she found herself outside in the hallway, the door to the study was slammed shut in her face. Her face burned with humiliation and anger at being so easily swept aside by one of her kind. As she began to walk away, she heard Reaver chuckled from inside the study, "Do you really think my buttocks look like that?" and a gunshot followed, ended in complete silence._

"_He didn't..." Sparrow began but the guard nodded his head, "He did. That's Reaver for ya."_

_Sparrow growled and found herself storming from Reaver's manor, cursing the blasted pirate under her breath as she angrily stormed through the narrow streets of Bloodstone. "There's nothing for it," Theresa's voice entered her mind and interrupted the furious woman's dark thoughts, "We need his help, and he wants to play his little game so you must play it or Lucien will soon get what he wants."_

Unfortunately for Sparrow, Reaver's little games were never ending and the more you played, the more cruel and dangerous the little plot twists got. Sparrow was tired of the pirate's games and she decided that if he tried any while they were travelling through Wraithmarsh; she was not going to play fair. Reaver had changed into his usual pirating outfit, the dull red jacket and trousers laced with a golden material. His hands wore thick gloves which was common among thieves and of course that charming little cape which slung over his shoulders and its golden hem ended at his waist

"Now, now, not in a temper are we?" he taunted Sparrow as they walked down the manor steps, her face flushed in frustration.

"Why do you even need suits of Armour?" she hissed at Reaver, "There is no point for them, especially on a staircase which has no candles."

"Well everyone else who has made their way to my sleeping chamber has managed not to trip over my suits of armour."

A few of the locals who were gathered around, chatting with the nervous guard who was now leaning on the iron gates, whistled at her when they overheard Reaver's comment. The anger which was pulsing through Sparrow's veins seemed to reach a breaking point; her hands began to curl into fists. "Shut up!" she snarled at them, "Make one more sound and my katana will make sure no more sound will ever escape your lips again!" The crowd grew silent, eyeing the sword that was slung across her back with much contempt and fear, as she walked through the iron gates.

Reaver stopped at the nervous guard, who nodded at his master. Reaver pulled out his Dragonstomper.48 out of its holster and shot the guard in the head. The bang the shot made when it released the bullet caused the locals gathered around to shriek. The guard was given no time to scream and was killed instantly, he was dead before he reached the ground. The locals scattered, muttering between themselves and a young harlot among the crowd gave a sigh, and walked away, her head hung low as she was just beginning to like the guard. Sparrow looked down at the guard's body in horror, "Why the hell did you do that!?

Reaver blew the smoke from his pistol away, and placed it back in its holster, "One, I told him I didn't want to be disturbed, and two, no socialising on the job." He looked up at her, smirking, as if he believed he had just justified his action. He frowned when he saw her expression of shock and anger had not changed, "What?"

"You should have just fired him then, it was pointless to kill him!"

"In a way, I did fire him."

Sparrow growled and carried on walking down the cobbled streets. Two children watched her from the window of one of the houses she passed, their little faces peering curiously at the flaxen woman. They muttered among themselves excitingly when Reaver caught up with her. Sparrow shook her head in disapproval, hoping that the children of Bloodstone did not look up to him, and began to wonder if Reaver had killed any children along his years. The very thought sent shivers down her spine.

"Well hello there beautiful, my how you brighten these dismal streets," Sparrow stopped, and saw one of the town thugs walking past. She was muscular around the arms, and wore shabby loose clothing. Others approached, various locals cooing and whistling. Reaver smiled at them but frowned when he realised they were talking to Sparrow.

She chuckled at his frowning features and carried on, ignoring the Bloodstoners and their remarks. She passed two young women, one in discussion about getting a rather recent job as a bartender. Sparrow's eyes widened in horror as she remembered the promise she had made to Ernie, _yep, I'm fired alright. _A young sailor who was just outside the Leper's Arms winked at her. Reaver cleared his throat from behind her, obviously not pleased with the amount of attention he was missing out on. The young sailor fell back in fear; he turned to his mayor and smiled nervously, "Ah, Reaver, didn't notice you there."

"I noticed," Reaver answered coldly, his hand brushing his Dragonstomper.48. He quickly rushed into the tavern, while Sparrow commented, "Now Reaver, you cannot punish the lad for having taste."

Reaver scowled at her, his right hand reaching towards his pistol but Sparrow didn't seem to notice and laughed, "You're like a pathetic child Reaver, desperate for attention." Reaver rolled his eyes and remained to glare at the flaxen woman.

Sparrow walked down past the waterfront, pausing right outside the Leper's Arms, wondering if she should stop and get some food for the journey. _If I take Reaver into a bar, Avo knows when I'll get him back out. _She checked her pockets, and once satisfied she had enough for the both of them, casually walked up the Wraithmarsh road.

Reaver paused for a second, watching the disappearing figure, wondering if it would be easier to shoot her now and get it over and done with. As he watched her, a chain of pleasurable thoughts entered his mind, watching her movement with much interest. No, he would wait, he had a plan...

*****************************

Night had fallen over the crowded city of Bowerstone, its beautiful and usually busy streets were now filled with silence. The only sound issued was not one of man, but the gentle hush of a summer breeze as it blew faintly through the streets. One could say it was the great god Avo wishing his people a safe night but most now, during this new age, would merely believe it was a simple summer breeze. The beliefs in gods above in the heavens were becoming merely a myth; such devotion to one higher who remained unseen had caused uncertainty among modern citizens. Perhaps the argument for the possibility of higher beings would remain till the end of time, but let us not dwell on such roughly shaped ideas, let us now approach a more foreseen topic.

Spade's bakery was a topic that was well discussed among middle class citizens. It was run by a bossy widow who was getting well on in her years. But it was not _her_ the citizens discussed, no, it was her sons.

Sam and Max were renowned for their idiotic desire for adventure. Many years ago, eleven to be exact, the two brothers had unwittingly stumbled across an old tomb in Bowerlake. Inside this tomb was an old book, no treasure like they had first suspected but a measly book. Alas, this was not merely a measly book but the book of the dead, the **Normanomicon. **The trouble they had caused, the hollow men they had released on the graveyard, accidently transporting poor Elizabeth to an unknown destination at their party and of course, the queen banshee they had released on Bloodstone. But nonetheless, they still continued to mess with powers they had no control over.

That night, the two brothers once again, were about to return to their usual havoc creating adventures but little did they know, that this 'havoc' was much more dangerous then they realised. In Spade's bakery in the dead of the night, the two brothers found themselves creeping down into the cellar. "Shh!"Max hissed at his brother who was doing his best to sneak down the wooden steps without making a sound, "Don't wake mother or she'll be at us again!"

"I didn't make a sound you deaf git!" Sam snarled back, "Anyway, I doubt even that she-devil could hear us. She's on the other side of the bakery."

"Don't count your chickens, Sam," Max shook his head, "Forget about mother, have you got the book?"

Sam nodded, raising the large book which he had been carrying in his arms. Max went to light some candles, in order to see well. All Sam could make out was some storage boxes but even they seemed to be mostly hidden in the darkness. Once the candles were lit, Sam could see the room more clearly. It was dusty and several cob webs hung in the corners, decorated with dust. In the middle of the square room was a shabby table and three chairs. Max was sat at the end; his eyes alight with excitement as he gazed at the old book.

Sam was a little hesitant of giving it over, "Max, do you really think this is a good idea? Think of all the things that have happened with that book. They still haven't found poor Elizabeth."

Max waved his hand, dismissing the thought, "She'll turn up, probably on some exotic island having the time of her life," this was far from the truth, "Besides, we need to find a way to get mother off our back, I can't stand being a baker! Can't believe that damn adventurer snitched on us!"

Sam shrugged, laying the book onto the table, "More like can't believe she didn't kill us. She called me an ignoramus, I don't even know what an ignoramus is," he shuddered, "She was pretty angry."

"We released a banshee on Bloodstone, how did you expect her to react?" Max rolled his eyes, his fingers brushing the book gently, a small smile creeping onto his features, "Just think, soon we will never have to hear the work 'bake' ever again!"

"Ah, having a spot of _evil worship _chaps?" a false cheery high classed voice asked from the darkness. Max fell from his seat in shock and Sam recoiled, looking around frantically for the source. A dark swirling cloud erupted in a far corner of the room, and out stepped a cloaked man, wearing what seemed to be a strange orange mask. He smiled at the two brothers, causing them get a shiver down their spines, "Care if I join you?" The man did not wait for an answer and sat on an empty seat at the table. Sam cast Max a 'What-the-hell-did-you-just-summon look, causing the robed man to chuckle.

"Forgive my intrusion chaps," he gestured to the **Normanomicon**, "It is just this beauty was calling out in the darkness and I had to answer its pleas," he nodded towards the book, "Mind if I take a peak?"

The most sensible of people would usually refuse such an offer...or run like a bat out of hell but I am afraid to say, these brothers of little wit did not show such wise thoughts. Max nodded, sitting back on the chair but trying to keep his distance between himself and the robed man. Sam however, was paralysed with fear and had found it difficult to move a muscle.

The robed man caressed the book's soft cover, which seemed to grow paler with his touch, as if the book itself feared what this man was about to do. He seemed to relish its presence and sighed as he stroked the soft material, it seemed to tantalise his pleasures like citrus on the tongue. He brought the book closer to his face and smelled it. Not the usual musty smell of ancient tomes one would usually find on a book but the strong scent of decay, the smell of old blood, the stench of death. But he did not turn his nose away; he basked in its dark aura. "So long," he murmured to himself, "I can hear Skorm himself turning away in envy. Look now Cornelius, still think I'm just a rich twit who just likes to meddle for fun?" He chuckled again, and turned to the brothers, "Beautiful isn't she? Do you know she's bound with real human skin? Yes, you can still see freckles if you look closer."

Instead of the awed silence the robed man expected, he heard disgruntle cries coming from the two brothers, "That is disgusting, to think I had that in my bed when I was hiding it from mother!"

The robed man ignored the two gentlemen and carried on admiring the ancient book, "To think of its wonders, what have you two been doing with it? What disasters did you create?"

"Erm..." began Sam, who still remained frozen on the spot, "We released hollow men on Bowerstone graveyard, but we got a wandering adventurer to sort it out."

The robed man looked horrified, even though his face was half covered with that obscure mask, his mouth was gaped open in surprise, "Why? Why would you do that?"

"Well, graveyards scare us as they are," Sam shivered, "The thought of dead people under the earth sends a shiver through my bones as it is, never mind them _walking _above the earth as well!"

The robed man shook his head in disbelief, "Is that all?"

"No," Max piped in, "We used it at a party and accidently send our friend Elizabeth somewhere, they still haven't found her."

"Hmmm..." the robed man thought for a moment, opening the book and scanning the yellowed pages with much interest, "What incantation was it? I could work out where you sent her."

"Really?" Sam asked frenziedly, rushing over to the robed man, forgetting his fear for a moment. "I do miss her; she was the only one who weren't afraid of our mother."

The robed man pointed at one of the yellowed pages, his fingers traced the ancient runes which were imprinted in eternal ink, "Was it that one by chance?" Max leaned over and nodded, "Ah, you sent her to the shadow court. Dead by now, or worse," He said it in a casual tone, just as one would comment the weather. Sam sat in the seat at the robed man's other side, "Dead?"

The robed man ignored the brother's remorseful tone, "Yes, most likely. Never mind, so, please tell me you did more with the book? I hate to see time wasted."

"We summoned a queen banshee on Bloodstone," Max stated, ignoring his brother's sudden sobs, which echoed the small cellar and rebounded off the walls, calling back to them in a muffled manner.

The robed man clapped his hands, "Bravo my young man. Was there a slaughter? How many dead? Still loose on that parasitic town?"

"No, we got that adventurer to help. She got rid of it, fought it and killed it. She said damage was done but she stopped it before it could do worse. Then she snitched on us to mother, making us _bake _for a living." Max scowled, "I hate baking! You don't know what strange orders I have to do, what- strange shapes people want their cakes to be in, it is awful!"

"One could only imagine," the robed man sighed, "So, why did you summon these things if you weren't going to have fun with them?"

"They were accidents," choked Sam, his face stained with tears, "We never meant any harm."

The robed man shook his head and waggled his finger, "Tut-tut. You two aren't even close to being evil enough."

Max was taken aback, "We're not evil, we're adventurers!"

From the corner of the room where the dark swirling cloud continued to whirl in the air, a sharp hiss issued from the cloud and a dark shape was seen leaving it, and lurked by the wall. The two brothers gulped at the strange creature, which could not be seen fully as a black mist seemed to fog its appearance. "Don't worry," the robed man told the men, "It's just a shadow. She's just growing impatient."

"She?" whimpered Sam.

"Yes, she. Anyway, back to the reason I am here," he closed the **Normanomicon, **smiling up at the two brothers, "How would you two like to not be bakers anymore?"

The two brothers exchanged glances, both showing a gleam of hopefulness, "We would like that very much Mr...erm...Mr"

"Please, just call me Alastair," the robed man nodded, "Then chaps; I have a little proposition for the two of you."

The brother's leaned closer, "We're listening."

Alastair nodded, "Well, do you know what I hate the most? Apart from black pudding that is, men who are forced into doing things they hate doing everyday. Give me the **Normanomicon,** and I will bring an end to your business and an end to your mother's control."

Max opened his mouth but Sam cut across, "I don't know, you seem to take a certain liking to this book, as if you know it."

"I know of it," Alastair told them, "This book hasn't been seen for over two hundred years. And the last person who used this book was of very feeble mind, yet he prevailed exceedingly. He destroyed a whole town with a bunch of muttered words, but he was merely a pathetic villager."

Max's eyes opened wide with interest, "Who was this man?"

"Oh, like I previously said a pathetic villager. A man suffering from a broken heart, a weak fragile soul who was naive enough to believe that shadows would give him what he wanted without a cost. Humph, foolish boy."

The shadow laughed, its laughter was dry and cold yet it did not pause. Alastair chuckled, "She loves that story, don't you my pet?" The shadow hissed at the word 'pet' and slunk back into the cloud, "Your choice my dear chaps, the book or a life of baking?"

Max and Sam exchanged looks once again, this time it was a shared look of concern. The shadow hissed from the cloud and spoke in a whispered voice, "Just kill the two of them Alastair, it will save so much time."

Max jumped back, knocking the chair over, "Don't kill us! Take the book, just don't hurt my brother or I."

"I'm a man of my promises," Alastair told them sternly, "I will take the book, and you two will cease to be bakers and your mother will no longer have control over you. Take my word for it."

Max gulped, he could feel sweat trickling down his forehead. He had no idea but a single thread of doubt lingered in his mind, he closed his eyes and prayed that he would never have to live with this choice, "Deal!"

"What?" Sam snapped at his brother, "You're giving our book away to some stranger! What has come over you?"

"Sam, we are grown men and I am sick and tired of living in our mother's shadow! It's time for us to leave, time for us to be free!"

Alastair turned taking the book with him, and walked towards the portal, the gentle rustle of his cloak as it brushed against the floor would haunt the two men till the day of their death. He disappeared into the cloud, reappearing in the dark empty streets of Bowerstone. The shadow had followed him, and her presence caused him to smile, "You disapprove of my choice don't you?"

"Of course," came the shadow's whispered voice, "I would have killed both of them, their lives are pointless. They are merely meddlers; no-one cares for their wretched existence."

Alastair rolled his eyes, "Without meddlers, there would be only evil to taunt the good. Besides, the two may provide fruitful in the future. Quite naive, the both of them."

"They were more naive then Rupert," the shadow told Alastair, "Only he was not pointless. He was fruitful to begin with, handsome too. But one thing I cannot quite grasp Alastair, how are you going to release them from their mother's grip?"

Alastair chuckled, "I'm not, you are. I'm sure you can find a way to prevent the mother from getting up in the morning and bully her sons. Perhaps stop her from waking up all together," the shadow hissed in excitement and departed.

But after that, silence once again fell over Bowerstone. And the only sound that penetrated the silence was the sound of little droplets of rain falling from the sky and hitting the street. It was almost as if Avo wept for Albion in sympathy...

**Notes: Sorry about the long wait, apparently 'I would rather write a fanfiction on pirates and heroes' is NOT an excuse to not study for history. So after I was free from my history teachers clutches, I wrote a few chapters. Sorry if the start was rushed (or maybe I'm paranoid?). This chapter leaves a lot of questions (I hope it does anyway), but not too much Sparrow/Reaver bonding, the next chapter will have that and that should hopefully be up tomorrow. That will have all the bonding I missed out here (or the lingering desire to kill each other). Cheerio!**

**P.S. Derek, get well soon! :P**


	5. Banshee Breaks and Balverines

**Rogue Rikku - Sparrow deserves the attention for a change. Hehe, I am going to focus on getting the heroes introuduced to the baddy first and getting all the heroes together. Then I'll focus on Sparrow/Reaver and any possible challenges that may await them. Thank you for your review!**

**TsukiharaKitty - Wow! Thank you, that was a very insightful review. And I'm really glad you are enjoying it so far. Theresa is very suspicious isn't she? I was very ticked off when she took the Spire, and she treated Sparrow like a mere pawn. And I really must watch this show of yours. And believe, it's going to be a slow progress with these two. xD**

**Dark Circles - xD Thank you for your review. Even though Bloodstone is my favourite place, it really has rubbish houses (apart from Reaver's of course).**

* * *

**Chapter five: Banshees Breaks and Balverines**

Wraithmarsh was one of the creepiest places Sparrow had ever travelled through. The misty remains of Oakvale never ceased to chill her bones. But as she walked down the old country paths which were now overrun by marshes and beasts, she could not help thinking of the town which once stood here. The people who had once walked on the same ground she had were now nothing but a distant memory, their remains scattered beneath her very own feet. As she stood in the cold marsh, she could hear a strange sort of music in the air, like a broken music box. Theresa always told her it was her imagination but as she stood there with Reaver, she swore it was real.

The place seemed to have a similar affect on Reaver. He seemed more edgy, more alert than usual, and strangely quiet. His dark eyes surveyed the dead landscape, almost with sorrow. Curiosity begged her to ask the question, a question she had pondered over ever since she found out about Reaver's immortality. "Were you alive when Oakvale was around?"

He paused; she noticed his posture became more rigid, "No, I was not. Why do you ask?"

She tried to keep her voice casual, "Theresa told me an Oakvale villager sacrificed the whole town for immunity to death," she shifted uncomfortably, "Seeing as you are the closest immortal, I was guessing you may know something about it."

He gave a false chuckle, "I know nothing about him, whatever that spineless coward did I played no part."

There was an unreadable tone in his voice which made Sparrow slightly doubtful about his words but she decided now was not the time to dwell on it. She shook her head in disbelief, "I can't believe you're taking the moral high ground on this, after everything you've done."

He raised his eyebrow and an irksome smirk played on his face, "Would a lovely bloke such as myself do such an evil deed?"

Sparrow rolled her eyes and carried on walking, ignoring the squelching her footsteps made as she walked on the water-logged marsh. _I wonder if that bloke is still around, whoever did it. How could he have lived with himself? _Sparrow shook her head, _No-one who had killed this many people would be able to live with themselves. I know I wouldn't be able to, _She glanced at Reaver, who was checking his reflection in a marshy pond, _well almost no-one. I wonder if he had lost his family. How could anyone sacrifice their own family? _A sudden bitter chill erupted inside her, _except me._

She heard a balverine howl in the distance, causing her to trip backwards in horror. Reaver caught her before she fell all the way, a look of amusement on his face. "Guessing you're not too keen on balverines? Interesting..." She regained her balance, pushing Reaver's arms away hastily, "If you had ever listened to the story about the warrior girl and the snow monsters every night of your childhood, you wouldn't like balverines either!"

"The warrior girl and the what?"

"The warrior girl and the snow monsters, a story Rose told me to get me to sleep. She used to write bedtime stories for me, thinking they would send me soundly to sleep," Sparrow laughed, "However, Rose was a horror person, and her stories frightened the life out of me," she shivered, "One night, she told me chapter eight of the warrior girl, a traveller brought a caged balverine into Old Bowerstone. Something to do with an arena-most likely the crucible, It broke out of its cage and terrorised the whole district; I could hear it howling in the night. Luckily one of the town guards shot it before it reached us, been terrified of them ever since. That's possibly the reason why I try to avoid Westcliff," she shot Reaver a dirty look as she had had to travel through Westcliff to see him.

"Fascinating," Reaver replied in a bored tone, "But who is this Rose? Sounds like an interesting young woman."

Sparrow steadied her voice before replying, "Rose was my sister, the one Lucien shot when I was little."

"Oh, the one you swore to avenge and after all that time, I was actually the one to kill him. That Rose?"

"Yes that Rose," Sparrow replied coldly, "Thank you for that captivating little insight."

They walked down a small bank, disappearing behind tall weeds in order to avoid banshees. Reaver raised his sword, which was attached next to his gun on his belt, and began to swiftly slash at the reeds in order to make a path. Sparrow found it rather intriguing to see him use his sword, as she always imagined him with a pistol in his hand. He was rather careful with a sword; his hand seemed very flexible as it moved with the direction of his blade. She followed his example with her master katana, chopping at the stray reeds. They fell into the shallow murky waters with a small splash.

As they passed an old stone bridge, Reaver fell behind. "Ergh," she heard Reaver groan from behind, she turned to see him leaning against the bridge, fiddling with one of his boots, "I have water in one of my boots, ergh...wait a minute while I try to empty it. I call a banshee break!"

"Please tell me you're not serious," Sparrow watched the struggling thief in disbelief, "You're a bloody pirate and you can't stand a little water in your boots. And what do you mean 'I call a banshee break'?"

"A little bit of water? I think the whole marsh is swishing around in here, now be patient my dear."

Sparrow growled, causing the pirate to chuckle. "Such a beautiful temper you have, such a shame I will probably end up killing you."

Sparrow was about to reply to his comment but a balverine howl cut her short. She tensed up, sensing it was closer. She raised her pistol, and frantically spun around, trying to see the creature's bearings. Out of nowhere a sharp claw came into contact with her shoulder, knocking her off her feet, growling down at her. A gunshot ended the creatures snarling, and it fell dead at her feet. Reaver stood over her with a smoking pistol, "You know, for a hero you seem to be lacking in the battlefield lately."

"I admit that I'm slightly rusty at fighting the creatures in this region but I wouldn't go so far to say I'm 'lacking'."

"I would," came the pirate's short reply, "Anyway, what happened in that story your sister was writing? I must say, I enjoy a good thriller."

Sparrow held her hand out, expecting him to help her up. He looked at her as if to say 'you got yourself down there, you get yourself back up' causing her to roll her eyes. She got up, "You're in the middle of Wraithmarsh, and you want to hear a child's story for a thriller?" She thought for a moment, trying to remember the story she was told so long ago, "The last chapter she read me was about the girl fighting the king snow monster before she was swept of her feet by a dashing scoundrel-"she paused and thought better of it."Actually, I don't want to get into that, I don't want to give you ideas."

"Too late," Reaver replied. Almost immediately, Sparrow felt herself being lifted off the ground and spun around. "So you think I'm a dashing scoundrel do you?"

She whacked him on the shoulder causing him to drop her; she landed with a squelch on her feet. "More like a heartless beast."

"Why do you insist on associating me with words such as 'cold blooded' and 'heartless'?"

"Well, I would have to say because they're true," she walked ahead, keeping her eyes peeled for any more of the foul beasts. "You have shot four innocent people overall in my presence merely because things didn't go your way. And I bet you are fantasizing about killing me at this very moment."

"Well, among other things," he shrugged, "So I kill a few people, who would have ended up dying anyway. I just saved them the wait, which is quite generous of me, and you call me a monster?"

She looked at him in disbelief, his logic was terrible, "You sacrifice innocent people's youth for your own immortality! You treat people like they are objects that can be easily replaced. Do you even think about the people who cared about those you have murdered? Ever wonder about their own life, their family and their friends? Do you even remember their faces, their names? What they could have done with the life you unfairly ended?" she stared at his expressionless face in a disgusted manner. "How many children have you orphaned? How many men have you made widowers? How many woman have you widowed? How many parents have lost their child because of you? Do you ever think about that?"

Reaver looked away from her for a moment, and then turned back with a small smile on his lips, "To tell the truth, not really."

Her anger turned into fury, Barnum's smiling face floated in front of her eyes. His silly words, his bazaar catchphrases, his enthusiasm all wiped away just because it would have taken three months to develop a picture. Before she knew what she was doing, Sparrow found her fist hurtling towards Reaver and smacked him with most of her strength. He fell to the ground, groaning in agony as he clutched his mouth. Sparrow regretted it almost immediately despite the taunting voice's impious remarks, _you enjoyed it, tell the truth. To see him writhing in agony at your feet, it fills you with a sense of power, joy, satisfies your need of revenge. _

"What the hell was that for!?"

Sparrow glanced at the gloomy sky, refusing to meet the pirate's eyes, _he feels pain, well there's a shock. _She carried on walking, uncertain if she should apologize or not. She felt like a hormonal youth, but she was too proud to admit wrong. The feelings of anger and grief proved she was human and that was something she had clung onto through the years. Something which had separated her from the likes of Lucien and Reaver, she still had her humanity. "Just take a potion Reaver, the pain will probably cease then."

"Y-you punched me."

"Still think I have a beautiful temper Reaver?"

"Y-you punched me."

"Yes I did, well done."

"_Hypocrite_," he hissed at her, raising himself off the muddy ground, clutching a bloody lip, "What about you? I sent you to the shadow court and you returned looking as youthful as ever. Frightened of loosing those long luscious flaxen waves? Frightened of losing that peachy complexion?" He took a step forward, his dark eyes narrowing dangerously, "You go around acting all holier-than-thou, acting as if you are better than me-"

"I am better than you Reaver!" Her words were cold, and the _sanctimonious_ nature shocked her. She never looked down at people. She always tried to treat people well but ever since that day she found herself on Oakfield's dock, feeling alone and betrayed, everything seemed to slow down. And slowly but surely, she found herself growing resentful. Her humanity was defiantly shaken then. "You are a_ parasite_!" It was as if she was no longer in control of her words and she would have laughed at Reaver's dumbstruck face if this had not been so serious, "I didn't want to sacrifice that young girl, but I needed my strength for Lucien. I couldn't sacrifice the chance of defeat, I couldn't."

Reaver raised his eyebrow in disbelief, "Just tell the truth, you didn't want to be old."

"No! I am not like you, I made that choice once and never would I even think about making those choices again for my own benefit." Her words caused silence, and then she turned from the pirate, not wanting to discuss the matter any further.

They carried on walking, Reaver kept his distance, waiting till the flaxen woman's anger had diminished slightly. A few hollow men appeared at the end of the path, staggering towards them. Reaver fired a few shots at them, decapitating the fragile zombies with one bullet. Sparrow joined, firing at the closer ones. Getting bored of the little action, she raised her katana and with one flourish, sent the malicious beasts back to hell. She could hear their fragile bones snapping as the blade went through them, causing a shiver to go down her spine. However, she was unsure if this was a shiver of discomfort or possibly pleasure.

"Now that is more like it," Reaver commented, "Almost as good as me. See, if I was not here to arouse your temper, you would have been dead by now."

Sparrow replied in a sarcastic tone, "Aren't I lucky."

In the little beams of dying sunlight which shone through the thick mist that swirled around them, she saw that his hair was once again ruffled back in that annoying manner. She shook her head; her temper was beginning to get the better of her. She cast him a cold look before continuing the journey. "Who did I kill?"

The question caught her off guard, "What do you mean?"

He folded his arms, "I can read you like a book. You are taking all this killing to heart, so either I killed someone who meant a lot to you or you are just pathetic," Sparrow scowled, "Or both, which is an option I am really considering."

She sighed, "Do you remember the man with the picture box? Just after you betrayed me to Lucien and just before he betrayed you," she paused at the bank of a stream they were passing and sat down, weary of the walking, "He was a friend, my business partner to be exact."

Reaver sat beside her, "The man I shot before we went down my passage," Sparrow sniggered, "Yes, you did that when you saw the name on the wall. Oh yes, erm...what was his name?"

Sparrow smiled sadly, "His name was Barnum, always had these crazy ideas. He wanted to change the world, slightly naive but he was a good man. Rose thought him silly, but he was friendly enough. He was the last piece of my childhood I had left, the last shred of evidence that proved Rose once existed. Rose and I were the first people to ever test out that machine of his, he took a picture of the two of us." She stared dreamily into the distance, "I wonder what happened to it..."

Reaver followed her gaze, and then snapped out of the trance the thick mist seemed to put him in, "As touching as all this nonsense is I must be bluntly honest, I really don't care about some picture box man. I probably did him a favour."

"You see him as an object, like I previously stated. What you need to realise is he was a man, of flesh and blood just like yourself."

Reaver did not reply straight away but merely watched the murky water ripple as it flowed down the stream. Sparrow turned to him, watching his frowning features, "What happened to you Reaver?"

Reaver did not meet her eyes, "What do you mean?"

Sparrow turned back to her gazing, "There is root to all evil, a core, something that binds both alignments together. I just wonder what broke yours and turned you into such a callous being. Sometimes it is the fragile mind of a child, corrupted by jealousy or influence. Others it is the betrayal of another, the feeling of being used. Sometimes we watch others grow great, while we remain weak and fragile under their gaze, wanting some sort of power to reach their level, not knowing when to stop," Reaver rolled his eyes as Sparrow continued to drone on. "Fear can play major parts too. But sometimes, we lose something that meant everything to us, losing someone can take us to the darkest of places. What drove you to such depths Reaver?"

Reaver chuckled at her words, "Oh my dear Sparrow, can you not just believe some people are born evil?"

Sparrow sighed, "Impossible, no-one is ever born good or evil. It all depends on choices, events that have happened, feelings."

"Cobblers my dear, but just to please you let us just say I choose the wrong choices, I suppose that is what made me the successful man I am today." He looked at her, "What happened to you? All those juicy offers, various evil cults you could have joined, the amount of gold you have missed out on. What made you choose the path of 'good will'?"

Sparrow smiled a bitter grin, "I made the right choices, which made me the happy woman I am today."

"Happy?" He gave her a sceptical look, "Are you positive about that, because from what I have seen you don't seem happy? If you knew the choice was going to make you a miserable cow, why did you choose it? Why not bring your dear sister back to life? Or better yet, the gold?"

"It would have been selfish to choose any of the others, imagine all the families that are now happy to see their loved ones because of that choice."

"Forget them; they didn't play a part. So technically, you deserve the happiness more than they do."

"I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I had chosen any of the other two," she shook her head, "You did not see them in the spire. Men were ending their own lives to get away from it. You didn't hear those men sob in their sleep, how they cried for their loved ones. Oh Reaver, you weren't there."

Reaver rolled his eyes, "I still would have taken the gold, Lucien's pathetic sheep mean nothing to me," Reaver's features darkened and a strange flush of anger seemed to surface from nowhere. "And if they are selfish enough to give up their own lives and leave their families, they deserve to stay dead!"

"Reaver!" Sparrow's mouth gaped open in shock, "How could you say such a thing?"

Reaver did not reply straight away and when he did speak, he spoke on a different topic, "But I still think you should loosen up a little Sparrow, there is no need to get so worked up."

"I'm in the middle of Wraithmarsh among balverines and Avo knows how many other fiends," Sparrow quickly glanced up at the darkening sky," Rain is most likely about to pour down upon us any moment from now, an evil which I probably vanquished is rising from the shadows, ready to slaughter us. And probably the worst thing of all," Sparrow looked distastefully back at the pirate, "I'm stuck here with you! What am I meant to be doing, skipping?"

Reaver scowled, "Oh, and being stuck with Albion's most depressive, holier-than-thou doomsayer is the highlight of my life!"

"How am I a doomsayer?"

Reaver put on a false high Bowerstone accent, "Balverines about to tear us to pieces blah blah blah, rain about to drown us blah blah blah, evil about to slaughter us blah blah blah, Reaver killed Barium blah-"

"Barnum!" Sparrow snarled, "And I am not a doomsayer, I am a realist! I see what is there, and I'm sorry Reaver but the present is pretty bleak!"

"You're making it bleaker than it really is. We," Reaver paused thoughtfully, "Actually,_ I_ killed Lucien in a jiffy. If it is Lucien, and I highly doubt it is because when I shoot someone they always stay dead, then all we need is a bullet and voila! Dead evil, no slaughter! He's not exactly a Jack of Blades is he? Then we can return to our little lives. That is if you weren't _tragically _killed by a stray bullet."

"We all played a part in Lucien's downfall Reaver," Sparrow scolded the arrogant pirate.

"Really? Then how come he was defeated just after I arrived?" Reaver scratched his chin in mock thought, his fingers brushing against a small stripe of hair below his lip, "And who was it that shot him? Hmmm...I wonder...."

Sparrow joined in on his mock thought, twisting a strand of her flaxen hair as she pretended to think, "And who saved your worthless hide by weakening Lucien's power and severing the link which bound you to him?"

Reaver rolled his eyes, "All you did was flash a little box at him, I was the one who ended his life. You just let him chat away when he was obviously building up what little power he had so he could blast you to eternal sleep."

"Just because you're so inhuman that you wouldn't hesitate to kill a defenceless man-"

"He killed your sister! If any bastard in this world had harmed my sist-"Reaver went pale all of a sudden, his features seemed to go lifeless as his voice trailed away. He glanced up at the sky as a few drops of water splashed onto the ground beside them, "Ah rain," Reaver whispered, "Better get moving or we'll get soaked." He got up and walked away, disappearing into the mist. Sparrow sat, stunned at the pirate's abrupt behaviour but her thoughts were interrupted when Reaver's voice called, "Hurry up, we haven't got all week you know!"

She got up off the bank and followed Reaver's trail into the mist, shivering as the water from the sky above began to dampen her hair and a cold chill seemed to perch itself on her shoulders...and it was nothing to do with the rain.

*************

Power is something that we all crave once in a while. For some, power is merely an object of desire, such as a little girl wanting to be a princess and rule the land. For others, power is something we grasp for our own gains or to help others, it really depends on where your alignment stands at that particular moment. But the sense of power is a dangerous feeling for most. Like a drug, playing havoc with our systems, making us long for more. And when somebody gives into that urge, it can have disastrous consequences not only for the addicted but those around them as well.

Sam and Max had desired some sort of power ever since they were little children. Not the usual knight in shining armour but the desire to be an adventurer, to go into epic battles with Mother Nature herself. But these brothers of little wit did not have much of the courage that is required to be an adventurer...they certainly didn't have the brains.

It was a busy evening in the city of Bowerstone. Among the crowded streets, between every stall merchant and crate carrier was the whispered rumours of malice and mayhem. No matter how hard the town guards had tried to hide the recent murder of Mrs. Spade, the tongues of the people flickered like serpents, spreading rumours among the streets. It was difficult to tell fact from false but the uproar of panic caused people to grasp every lie or truth they were told.

"I heard her sons bumped her off," stated Sandra the furniture seller as she gossiped away with the fishmonger, who gasped at her every word, "You know, for control over her bakery."

"I heard she was killed by bandits robbing her shop," Brenda the bookseller said as she chattered to her husband, who was tidying her shelves and took no notice of the conversation, "It's terrible, bandits get worse and worse with every coming year. That hero should do something about it!"

"I heard a shadow worshipper done her in," Hans the blacksmith's apprentice told a gaggle of young girls, who squealed at the thought. However, his conversation was brought to an abrupt end when his master cuffed him across the ear.

"Word on the street is that they found her in bed, blood covered," John the crate carrier told a random sailor down by the docks, who looked very confused, "They say they found five marks on her back, as if some_thing _had torn their claws through her flesh."

"I heard her sons have been arrested," an elderly produce merchant told his young granddaughter, who looked up at him fearfully, "They're in Bowerstone jail, always knew those two were up to no good."

Of course, there was some truth whispered between the tales of gossip which seemed to change on every street.

Bowerstone prison was a dismal place. Situated between Bowerstone's backstreets and town centre, it was a place where only the vilest of criminals stepped foot and were locked away forever in a small, dingy cell. The whole place smelled of damp and rust mixed together in a vile solution- with tinges of blood and urine among it. The stone walls had a greyish mould oozing from the cracks between the stone blocks, but that was nothing compared to the lifeless eyes that stared through the bars of the countless cells on either side of a long passageway. Rows upon rows of criminals and perhaps the odd wrongly accused gentlemen.

"LET US OUT!" Screamed voices from one of the far cells, "We haven't done anything wrong, please, let us out-" but their whimpered cries for help were ended when screams reached the ears of every locked away person.

Sam and Max had found themselves in one of the far cells. The two brothers were frozen in fear by the rusty bars of their cell, listening to the cries of the guards and the sounds of gun shots rebounding off the walls. Sam whimpered as a snarl ended their pitiful cries and a deathly silence now hung over the dismal prison. Sam was too frightened to speak, silently sobbing at their exile but Max straight away whispered, "What's going on?"

"Well you see my good chaps," a familiar high classed, false jovial voice told them. "These men were uncooperative, and of course, my pet has very little patience." The two brothers turned to see the familiar stance of the man who had ruined their lives. He looked no different from the last time they had met, and it tore the brothers up inside to see him there smiling sordidly at them. Max tried to lunge forward but Sam held him back, knowing how dangerous this man was.

"Haven't you done enough to us?" hissed Max, struggling to escape his brother's grip.

Alastair merely chuckled at the two men, "On the contrary my good man, there are plenty of other things I could do to you," the brothers recoiled. "But that is for another day, I am here to set you free."

"Why?" Sam had finally found his voice, "You m-murderer! You m-murdered our mother!"

"Actually, I never lay a finger on your mother," a small hiss issued from outside the cell, and a hazy figure glided past the door, Alastair pointed an accused finger at the shape, "It was actually her."

The shadow gave a throaty chuckle, "I remember she was very dull. All she did was sleep, it was too straightforward," the shadow paused and looked into the cell. Its facial expression could not be seen but an air of disapproval hung around her, "The cells are bigger than last time. They locked me in a dingy little thing, this is a palace compared to the space I was cramped in."

Alastair tugged at his robe thoughtfully, "I forgot you died in Bowerstone, how thoughtless of me. You also were put on trial in Bowerstone weren't you my pet? "

A small low growl issued from the creatures throat at the word 'pet'.

"Look!" Max interrupted the individuals, "You can't just murder our mother and expect us to-"

"Technically," Alastair corrected him, "You did play a part. You asked to be out of your mother's grip and cease to be bakers. I was merely doing what you wanted."

Max's face paled at this, "You never said mother would die in the process."

"But I never stated she wouldn't either."

Sam sunk to the ground, but Max remained standing, processing the whole ordeal in his mind. "What do you want?"

"Well my good old chaps," they winced at his words. "I suppose I might as well get straight to the point," he tilted his head slightly; his dark eyes gleamed with malice behind that orange mask. "How did you work the **Normanomicon **when you first obtained it?"

"We read from it that's all, "Sam muttered, not wanting to get anybody else into trouble.

Alastair had sensed there was something more, "Don't bother lying to me now unless you two want to join your parents, " his voice was cheery but a subtle threatening tone had weaved its way through the words. The two brothers' eyes widened and they exchanged a look of extreme panic and fear.

"Alright!" Max blurted out, causing Sam to glower at his brother, "We spoke to a man from Bloodstone, he was a sailor. He told us he had dealt with books before."

Alastair groaned, the cheery tone disappeared and a judgmental essence replaced it, "Anywhere but Bloodstone," he glared at the brother's. "What was his name?"

"Jack, Salty Jack," Max told him, "But please," Max asked the robed man in a pleading manner, "Don't hurt him!"

"Believe me, last thing I want is chaos in Bloodstone, not until..." Alastair smiled and exchanged a look with his shadow companion, who hissed in excitement, "...Until the Rise."

The brother's remained silent, not bothering to ask what the rise was as they feared the answer. Max heard the old rusty metal bars creak as he pressed his weight against it while stepping away from the robed man. _The hero, _he thought, remembering the woman who had helped the brothers out in the past, _she'll know what to do, and she could protect us._

Alastair's smile seemed to widen, "Ah yes, the _barmaid,_" Alastair sneered and Max knew straight away that the robed man had just read his mind, "She probably will know what to do, and of course the other heroes." The shadow outside the cell sniggered.

"You shouldn't mock her," Sam snapped at the robed man, "She probably has powerful friends."

"Oh yes, "Alastair supposed sarcastically, "The large monk, the aged mage and the poncy pirate who would be terrified at the thought of losing a nail. Ah yes, I can see why I should feel _intimidated_."

Max was horrified. Never in his life had he felt so weak and vulnerable. "What _are _you?"

Alastair sighed, growing tired of the conversation, "Off you go boys, go scamper after your hero, oh," he paused and waved. "Tell her I said hello, it would be terrible if I started to be informal."

"B-but..." Max stuttered, "How are we going to find her?"

"Oh yes, how inconsiderate of me," the robed man waved his hand and in a flash of blue light, the two brother's disappeared.

"Where did you send them?" his shadow asked, her whispered voice sounded concerned, "Please tell me you did not send them straight to the hero."

"No, what do you think I am?" asked Alastair, "I sent them to Wraithmarsh; if by the slim chance they survive, I'm sure Sparrow will bring them back to us."

"You fool," she hissed, "Your leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for the heroes to find. You are asking for trouble."

"I always ask for trouble," chuckled Alastair, his eyes gleaming again with that streak of malice. "What sort of man would I be if I made things easy? Maybe a few heroes in the mix will lighten things up."

"You are impossible," she purred, "But watch your step, I have seen too many go down your path Alastair and rarely do they live to pay the consequences."

"I'm not a fool pet," he told the shadow, who hissed, "I am not going to lurk in the shadows and jump out at the weakest. But I am not going to flaunt myself like that fool Cornelius Grim, most evil being BAH! He is merely an insect compared to us my pet."

"Now now Alastair," the shadow chastened, "You are beginning to get a little full of yourself, this is the fall of many a man. You must pace your actions and not get too overconfident, if we are to succeed."

Alastair leaned against the bars and out stretched his hand towards the shadowy figure. The moment his hand made contact with the shadow's body, the mist which blackened out her fragile body began to swirl around her. The mist wove itself into a stronger form, and dark fur began to replace the wisps of haze. After a few moments, the shadow had disappeared and a black panther had taken its place. "You need to be in disguise if we are to wander around Bloodstone, I don't think the town would react well if I chose a shadow as my company."

"Interesting form," the panther purred, her large yellow eyes surveyed the robed man, "But it would be easier in human form."

Alastair chuckled knowingly, "My pet, do you really think I would trust you with that much power?" the panther growled, "No offence but from what I have gathered from your other life, loyalty was not the strongest of your many qualities."

"You obviously have trust issues," the panther sniffed, her eyes narrowed at the robed man, "Well, what now Alastair?"

"Well now," he shuddered, "Now we go to Bloodstone."

*************

Sparrow was not too sure how long she had been walking for, but with Reaver's constant comments and 'banshee breaks', it had seemed like endless day. They had trudged through countless marshes, unsure if they had passed this way before. It all looked the same, more or less. She had begun to grow wearier and wearier of the journey, but was kept on her toes with the frequent waves of hollow men which rose from the ground like worms reacting to rain. And the troll they had unwittingly encountered, she had more or less fought it single handed, with Reaver leaning against a rock, commenting on her 'ungraceful' movements. She made some 'ungraceful' gestures in return. After defeating the last wave of hollow men, Sparrow found herself in a clearing with several derelict buildings surrounding them.

"We're in the drowned farm I think," Sparrow looked around the dead landscape hopefully, "Not far to go now." She looked around, finding it slightly odd they had not encountered any banshees. It was as if someone had already passed this way not too long ago.

"About time," groaned Reaver, "I swear you are slow Sparrow."

Sparrow gave a hysterical laugh, "I'm slow!? I'm slow!? If you had helped with that troll, then perhaps we would have been here hours ago. I thought you said you enjoyed a 'good scrap'?"

"I do, I was just enjoying my banshee break more."

"That's another thing that was slowing us down, your flipping 'banshee breaks'-" Sparrow stopped in mid sentence, "Wait a minute, what the hell are banshee breaks!?"

"I am not too sure," was Reaver's short reply.

"So you conned me out of precious time?"

"In a way, yes I did. I just thought the two words fit together quite snugly."

Sparrow took a step towards the pirate with a raised fist, "I'll show you snug in the minute."

"Now this sounds interesting," Reaver winked over at the angry woman, hoping to soften her approach. "How snug are we going to be?"

Sparrow walked towards Reaver, her arms out stretched, making her look like a comical zombie. Her urge to wrap her hands around the thief's neck and strangle him was becoming increasingly harder to resist. At first he looked amused as she made her way towards him, but the closer she got, the more his smirk seemed to disappear. He shrunk under her gaze; the fire in her eyes seemed to burn into his dark ones. "Now, now," Reaver said worriedly, "No need to get hasty," he gave a nervous chuckle before she more or less pushed him against the wall of the well in the middle of the drowned farm.

"Listen here," she snarled, "I've been listening to you and you're comments for the last Avo knows how many hours. But I swear one more word out of you and I will strangle you with my bare hands!"

"Steady on my dear, this is too arousing for me to concentrate," his face was centimetres away from hers. His gloved hand began to trail up her arm, teasing the material of her muddy jacket suggestively. "Maybe we could take a small banshee break in one of these cosy little homes," he gestured to the ruined shell of a cottage, its broken beams stuck out awkwardly. "Then I will give you back all the precious time I have 'conned' from you."

She pulled her arm away from his hand, "First of all, I'm not going to mention how disturbing it is that you want to 'give me precious time' in Wraithmarsh. Second, I have had enough of your _banshee breaks_!" she narrowed her eyes when she noticed that once again his hair was ruffled back in that annoying manner.

"Oh come on my dear, I know you feel something for me. Would really explain why you are getting so defensive."

"I am _not _getting defensive," she paused, _way to be proven wrong. _"And yes I feel something for you, I feel you are the biggest egomaniac Albion has ever seen."

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment!"

He moved closer to her, dangerously close. Once again his hands wandered and found themselves cupping the flaxen woman's chin, tilting it upwards so she was looking him in the eyes. "I know you will not be able to resist me for long. After all this time you have had these feelings bottled up-"

"Reaver!" Sparrow snarled, pushing his hand away, "You have a fractured understanding of logic. I have met you merely three times in my life. One," she raised a finger; "You murdered my friend and betrayed me twice, and even dared to try to betray me a third time. Two," she raised a second finger, "I saved you and you were prepared to let the assassin kill me. Three," she raised a third finger, "I am here resisting the urge to strangle you, throw you in a marsh and lie to the others and tell them a banshee got you."

Reaver laughed, "There is no use in denying it. It's understandable, that with being alone all these years with that mutt of yours," _Who said I Charlie was my only company? _"You just wanted some 'human bond', and with me being the most decent man around, you fell head over heels."

Sparrow shook her head, and muttered under her breath, "If I were to go for the 'most decent man', I would have gone for Garth." She had not intended Reaver to hear this but unfortunately he did.

Reaver gasped dramatically, a hurt expression crossed over his face, causing Sparrow to chuckle. That comment was not too good for his pride, "Well, if you go for the older men Sparrow, I am powerless to stop you."

Sparrow's eyebrows both rose as she studied the sulking pirate, "So says the three hundred year old pirate. In a way," she smiled as she imagined his reaction to her next statement and a daring chuckle escaped her lips, "You're actually Garth's elder."

Reaver frowned, "That doesn't count! Being immortal keeps me young and strong."

"Yet according to Garth, he flared your hide in Samarkand, didn't he?"

Reaver growled, grabbing his Dragonstomper.48 from its holster and pointed it at the smiling flaxen. Her smile seemed to widen when she saw the pistol, making Reaver slightly weary that she did not show any sign of fear,."You're so badly affected by those harmless little comments, and you call me pathetic," Reaver clicked the pistol, now the fear began to sink in slightly. "Shooting me isn't going to prove anything Reaver. And besides, you're delaying time. Wouldn't it just be quicker to keep me alive and get to that cave?"

Reaver's eyes seemed to brighten at the thought and he lowered his gun, placing it back onto its holster. A smirk was once again playing on his face, "You make another good argument my dear. And if I shot you," his eyes seemed to travel all the way around Sparrow's body. "It really would be a waste." He tried to lean closer but Sparrow stepped back, "Give me one true reason that will clearly state that you could never fall for my charms."

Sparrow rolled her eyes and turned away from the pirate, "Apart from you being a cold blooded killer," she made a flippant jest to outline the ridiculousness of the situation. "Probably your stupid hair," however Reaver had not got the mocking undertone. "What is wrong with my hair!?"

She walked away from him, her eyes scanning the dead landscape for any sign of trouble. "My hair is perfectly fine thank you. Not that a woman of your stature could understand such fine styles," Sparrow sniggered at his vanity."Actors have had styles like this," he continued to ramble on about the various famous people that had had similar styles but Sparrow did not bother to pay attention.

She carried on walking, ignoring the pirate's protests. Unfortunately, Sparrow did not realise she was about to walk on unstable grounding. The moment her foot landed on the ground, the whole earth seemed to give in underneath her. She shrieked, but luckily she had not fallen far though still far enough to be stuck. Pools of mud circled her, and she felt as if she was beginning to sink in. She growled at her misfortune, trying to heave herself out but failing. She growled again when she heard laughter coming from above.

"Enjoy your trip my dear?" came Reaver's taunting voice.

_That's it, screw the hero's thing. I'm killing him, killing him with my bare hands._

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**Notes: Tomorrow never came. I forgot about the upcoming exams and was completely distracted. This chapter was really just character development but pushes the plot a bit forward. Not the best chapter but it's alright :D Also, pay attention to small detail! That is very important, as I normally weave clues within small hints. **

**I also focussed more on Reaver's psychopathic nature more than his sexual side. **

**And another thing, I want to apologize if Reaver was slightly out of character when Sparrow punched him. That was really for my own enjoyment as I am still annoyed he shot Barnum. He would have probably shot her but here is my excuse for him reacting the way he did. Well one, Reaver does things for his own benefit. It is more than obvious he wants to sleep with Sparrow. He also finds Sparrow's attitude towards him is rather intriguing, and by shooting her he would no longer have the opportunity to prove himself great by 'conquering' her. And two, he would no longer have anyone else to torment and be stuck in Wraithmarsh on his own.**

**And Sparrow, possibly a bit of a 'hormonal hurricane' as I would put it. Though her anger and perhaps slight bitterness is understandable. After doing all that stuff for Theresa and training against Lucien she gained nothing out of it. It is understanable she may be a bit...well a bit like she is. And being stuck with Reaver would tick me off too. There is also a few other things she is dealing with which will creep up later.**

**Though the main reason I made Sparrow quite like she is was to oppose her status with Alastair. Evil but seemingly Jolly and friendly. Sparrow, good but seemingly unhappy and bad tempered. She will cool off a little later though, when the others are around to help her deal...and distract Reaver so she can have some peace xD**

**Next update later this week because I have a two week break till my next exam. Any spelling mistakes or grammer errors please point out. Cheerio and sorry for prattling on xD**


	6. The Three Doors

**I've finally found out how to reply xD Yes, I am slow xD**

**yo - Here is more xD Thank you for your review!**

**D3R3K - Thank you for your review! And I don't think I would be able to write this in the exam, it would be too difficult to remember xD**

**jenny - If I'm a violence whore then you must be an attention whore ;) I still love you though you big headed butcherer of the english language :P **

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**Chapter six: The Three Doors **

"You don't think he's hurt her, do you?" Hammer asked the silent mage as he stood by the powerless Cullis gate, looking out over the misty marsh. He glanced in every direction, looking for the two heroes but there was no sign of the thief or Sparrow. He turned to the muscular woman with the giant war hammer slung over her shoulder, who was looking very worried for her friend. "I doubt it."

"I swear by Avo if he has laid even a finger on her, I will grab that arrogant, smarmy son of a b-"

"Believe me I share the same amount of dislike for him," Hammer snorted at Garth's words, doubting anyone could hate him as much as she did. "But I doubt he's put her to any harm. Sparrow is wise Hammer; I trust she can look after herself."

Hammer impatiently paced the muddy ground, a squelching sound followed her every footstep, her feet sinking further and further with each step. "Maybe I should have picked him up," she told herself. "I hate to think we've sent her to some sort of doom. She really looked as if she needed some cheering up," Hammer paused and sighed sadly. "I thought us appearing may have lifted her spirits, I think we just sank them further."

"Do not take it personally Hammer," Garth told the young woman, a soft gentle tone to his voice. "I believe she is feeling guilty over the choice she made at the Spire," Garth looked around the bleak, misty marsh once again. "Imagine sacrificing the chance of bringing your sister back, perhaps we just reminded her of the chance she gave up."

Hammer stood still, sympathy for her friend clutched at her heart, "I never had a sister or a brother actually. I had my father but that was all. Well, all I know of...father adopted me when I was very young. But it would have killed me if I had to choose between him and all those people," she smiled sadly. "But Sparrow made the right choice, I d-don't know if I could ever be that strong. But I would have wanted to pick the same choice she did," she looked over at Garth. "Do you have any family back home in Samarkand?"

Garth remained silent for a minute before answering, "Not anymore."

"Ah," Hammer cleared her throat. "So, when do you think they'll be here?"

"_**They are arriving now," **_Theresa's voice told the two heroes telepathically, causing Hammer to jump.

"Good God Theresa!" she exclaimed, clutching her chest where her heart seemed to have skipped its steady pace. "Try to warn us next time before you do that!"

Theresa seemed to ignore Hammer's remark however she was right, the mage and the monk could hear raised voices in the distance approaching.

"Ah, the happy couple are arriving," Hammer stated cheerfully before turning to Garth. "Suppose Reaver's in one piece," they could see two shapes approaching from the mist, there was a large gap between the two and they could ripples of laughter coming from one of the shapes. "Shame really, part of me was hoping she had killed him on the way."

Reaver and Sparrow stopped, noticing the other heroes for the first time. A strange feeling seemed to rise in Sparrow, a feeling of joy as she realised that her fellow heroes were once again together...even Reaver. "Finally," breathed Sparrow in relief, happy to see the others were not hurt. Reaver however did not seem to show the same enjoyment, almost displeasure at the added company.

"Took your sweet time," complained Hammer as she walked towards the heroes. She stopped when she got a good look at them. Both of them were streaked in mud, perhaps more on Sparrow's part, and their clothes were soaked through with rain water and marsh. "What have you two being doing?"

"Not what I had hoped we would be doing, that is for certain," murmured Reaver so only Sparrow could hear. She scowled at him and proceeded to hug Hammer, "Nice to see you too," she laughed, and then smiled over at Garth as if thanking him for the added company. He nodded in return.

"Don't suppose I'll get a hug," Reaver asked, smirking at Hammer's cold look, "Thought as much."

"Seriously Sparrow what have you been doing?" Hammer shook her head at Sparrow's muddy figure then turned to give Reaver an icy glare. "Wasn't anything to do with _him _was it!?"

"'_Him' _has a name you know-"

"I fell into a trench of some kind," Sparrow interrupted Reaver, who was returning Hammer's glares. "Took me ages to get myself out."

Reaver opened his mouth to make one of his usual remarks but was interrupted by Theresa's impassive voice.

"_**Finally, the four heroes united once again."**_

"Ah, yes together again like old friends should," Reaver rolled his eyes. "Despite the _cheery_ welcome, what other goodies have you got in store for me?"

"_**A test, Reaver."**_

"I would have preferred gold, are you telling me I have left my cosy bed for a test?" He looked over at the other heroes and gave Sparrow a scornful look which told her she would have to watch her back in the near future. "Well it was nice to see you again, Sparrow, Garth and erm...you. But I really must be off, Ta Ta."

"Reaver!" Sparrow snarled in disbelief. "You just got here!"

"_**If you leave now Reaver, death will take you before the end of this week. That I am certain."**_

"Goodbye then Reaver," Hammer waved. "Hope you have a good travel, and try not to die too quickly."

Reaver gave it some thought, "Oh very well, I'll stay and do this test." He cast an angry look at the smug Sparrow, "What am I going to have to do?"

"_**All will be revealed in due time."**_

"Well that was helpful."

"Oh shut up Reaver," snapped Sparrow, "Theresa, where do we go?"

There was no reply, only silence followed. Garth took his turn, "Theresa, we need further instructions."

A blinding light surrounded each one of the heroes, and caused them to fade within the marsh. Sparrow felt like she was leaving her physical body completely, she had never got used to teleportation. She closed her eyes, and after a few moments of the nauseating spinning feeling she fell onto hard ground. She could tell they were no longer in the marsh. She slowly

flickered her eyelids open and saw that the other heroes were also on the ground, puzzled expressions filled each of their faces.

"_**Enter the cavern and you will find a room which contains the first test. Garth, you are first."**_

Sparrow turned her head to the cave's entrance. Its stone walls of welcome were tangled in draping ivy and a batch of green mushrooms seemed to grow from the cracks near the ground. A worn archway marked the entrance, curtains of weed which grew on top overhung. Sparrow raised herself and walked towards the entrance, the other heroes behind her. A small plaque was attached to the right-hand side and read:

'**Four Chambers Await Thee**

**First Are the Tests of Three**

**Logic is the Power of Will**

**Remorse Holds No Great Skill**

**Strength is One Man's Gain**

**Sticking Together is the Power of the Main'**

Sparrow mouthed the words over and over, each word seem to unravel the next in her mind. As she examined the ancient words carved into the plaque, Garth began to speak for all of them, "Wait," he started, his tired eyes scanning the plaque trying to understand. "Four chambers but only three tests, what is in the fourth?"

"_**I am."**_

Reaver sighed impatiently clutching onto the hope that Sparrow had not fully lied to him, "I mean no offence when I state this but is that all? No gold, no treasures, no ancient tomes, just you?"

"_**Yes, just me and the information on the rising enemy so many overlook."**_

"Can't you just tell us now, save us all the trouble of doing these little tests or trials, whatever you call them?"

"_**No."**_

"Care to elaborate more on that answer?"

"_**No."**_

"You're fighting a losing battle," Garth told the pirate, obviously amused with the interaction between the seer and the thief. "So only three tests?"

"_**No, there are four tests in three chambers."**_

"That makes no sense whatsoever!" Reaver crossed his arms in frustration, "So, let me get this straight, there are four chambers but only three have the four tests."

"_**Yes."**_

Sparrow felt her left hand twitch once again as Reaver continued to argue with the seer. His impatience was irritating and she was silently hoping his test would be very painful, very painful indeed. Sparrow had noticed she was not the only one irritated by his presence; she could see both Garth and Hammer giving the thief dark looks. It was going to be a long trial...

******

The four heroes entered the cave, which lead them down a dark corridor. There were large torches attached to either side of the walls, a red flame flickered within them as soon as a hero past. The stone walls were carved in runes and crude sketches as if carved by a child. Garth seemed to find them fascinating, often stopping to study them but hurried by Reaver's impatience. Sparrow didn't know what to make of them, Hammer just walked past them without taking notice. Sparrow also noticed Reaver's eyes were scanning the corridor for any sign of treasures; this made her chuckle under her breath.

"Not much for architecture are they?" commented Reaver, everyone just seemed to ignore him.

After a few minutes of silence, Hammer paused, raising her hammer, "Can you hear that?"

"Hear what?" asked Garth, puzzled by her sudden stillness.

"I could hear a child, singing."

Reaver opened his mouth to make a sarcastic comment but stopped when an eerie singing voice reached their ears. Its words, though purely simple, caused a certain amount of uncertainty among the heroes. Its words twirled among the silence, bouncing off the walls and hovered over the passage way:

_Three doors in a row_

_Cannae see where to go_

_Will the mage crack the code?_

_Or forever walk on this road?_

Sparrow felt a shiver run down her spine as she gazed ahead. There at the end of the path stood a small figure, standing beside a large rectangular door. Garth stepped forward and the small figure vanished, causing the large door to open. It revealed a large chamber, lit with floating red orbs which danced around the ceiling, surrounding the circular room. They all walked towards it, their eyes searching the circular room with curiosity.

There at the other side stood three doors, all showing different large symbols above their brass knobs. The first door had a wooden plaque above it which stated: **IF THEY ARE ONE OF FOUR, YOU WILL SEARCH FOREVER MORE**

"What does it mean by "they"?" asked Hammer, after reading the words several times.

They moved to the second door, another wooden plaque was above the door and read: **IF THIS DOOR SAVES US ALL, TO THE RIGHT YOU WILL FALL**

"So far, I'm voting for this door," Reaver remarked after reading the plaque.

They moved to the third and final door, with a wooden plaque that stated: **THIS IS NOT A BLATANT LIE, THROUGH THIS DOOR YOU WILL DIE.**

"So certain death follows this door?" Sparrow inquired, her hands brushing against the symbol. "Looks sort of like a duck."

"Ignore the symbols," Garth told the three heroes as he studied the first door, adjusting his monocle to get a better look. "They are merely distracting us from the messages," he pointed to the wooden plaque. "That is what we must to work with."

"Perhaps we have to sacrifice one of us and choose a random door," Reaver guessed, his eyes narrowing as he looked at the symbol of the second door.

"Are you volunteering Reaver?" asked Sparrow who stood next to the third door. "If you are, I believe the third hero would be suited with the third door."

"Oh very funny my dear, my sides are positively aching with mirth." After the sarcastic comment he squinted at the crude image. "Looks like a strange monkey-fish sort of creature."

"What did I say about the pictures?" Garth snapped at the thief. "They are merely a child's drawings trying to distract us," he moved between the doors. "I'm guessing one of these doors leads to the next chamber."

"Really?" Reaver mocked shock, "How did you guess-"

"That's not a duck! It's a deer," Hammer interrupted, shaking her head at the third door. "Honestly where did a duck come from?"

"How did you get deer, I see a duck!" argued Sparrow.

"I see a scribble," Reaver now joining the two women. "But as I look closer, it does sort of look like an owl. And a very badly drawn one at that."

"Listen!" Garth's voice echoed across the chamber, but the voice which managed to return was not Garth's but the sound of a child crying his words.

"That's quite creepy," Hammer looked around the chamber, curiosity and suspicion lingered around her scanning looks. "What is this place anyway?"

"_**It is the cavern of trial, and is what remains of an ancient civilisation. The child who haunts its chambers is the guardian. The chamber was used to trial those who were proven to have special abilities, like heroes for example. However, the Guild had forbid any of the heroes from using it believing the place is cursed."**_

"So, it's like a haunted training centre?"

"A cursed haunting training centre," mumbled Reaver, looking furious at the news.

"_**In a manner of speaking, yes it is. It tests the heroes on their strengths, and their weakness'. It can be rather painful for some, others it would be challenging at best. The curse is merely a myth though some strange phenomenal lies within wake. It is hardly surprising due to the many rumours that haunt the passage ways."**_

"Rumours such as...?" Garth questioned, the topic seemed to have aroused his interest.

"_**That the Eternals were the ones who carved the chambers within this place."**_

"What are the Eternals?" asked Sparrow, Hammer and Reaver in union.

"The Eternals are the children of the gods," Garth explained. "They are spoken highly in Samarkand. They are said to waver between the lines good and evil, belonging to neither. They are second on the chain."

"What chain?" enquired Hammer.

"_**The chain explains the positions of each of the beings. The first is the Gods high within the heavens, watching the world below. Second are the Eternals, the children of the Gods. Third are the Immortals," **_Reaver smirked but his face fell when he heard the next part, _**"They are the servants of the Gods. And finally, there are the Mortals, the Gods followers."**_

"Sounds like a bunch of superstitious mumble jumble to me," Hammer said in disbelief. "Look at Reaver, he's immortal and he isn't serving any Gods. All he does is evil deeds for his own pleasure."

"Not all Gods are good Hammer," Garth stated. "Look at Skorm, look at the Temple of Shadows. Not all so called higher beings were meant to be supporting all that is holy."

"But they don't exist, it's all a load of nonsense people swallowed years ago. "

"_**What exists, and what does not exist is not important at this particular time. What is important is that you complete your tasks and begin to understand what the chamber is. And to follow the instructions that were left for you."**_

"What instructions-"began Hammer but Sparrow immediately interrupted, "'Logic is the power of will'," Sparrow repeated. "That rhyme was the instructions wasn't it?"

Theresa did not answer, and Sparrow began to wonder if the blind woman was purposely avoiding conversation with her. Sparrow sighed sadly and paced passed the three doors, trying to make sense of what to do.

"Can we not just break them down and peer through?" Reaver suggested, but everyone ignored him once again.

Garth studied the second door again, adjusting his monocle to see if there were any marks he had missed out. "What will happen if we take the wrong door?"

"_**Different doors contain a different destiny."**_

"Well, that was helpful," Reaver shrugged. "I believe we should play it safe and take the second door."

"After you then Reaver," Hammer smiled falsely at the pirate.

"I couldn't possibly; it is ladies first after all." Electric charges pulsed through Garth's hands, ceasing when the two heroes fell silent. The will lines which covered his dark skin seemed to glow in the darkness, he scratched his chin, his eyes moving from one door to the next. "We faced things like this in school when I was young," he eyes stopped in front of the third door. "Not exactly the same but logic puzzles. Do any of you remember anything like this?"

"No idea, I never went to school," Reaver leant against the wall. "How much longer are we going to be here? I have a ship which will be awaiting me in a few weeks at Bloodstone pier. I have to make sure I'll be there to _commandeer _it."

Sparrow found herself rolling her eyes, "Huh. You mean shoot the rightful owner and hijack the ship?"

"My dear Sparrow, what sort of pirate _buys _a ship?"

"Wait, hold on a minute. You never went to school!?" Hammer interrupted, "Where did you learn? How did you learn?"

"I never either," Sparrow told her.

"Well, no offence my dear but that is blatantly obvious," Reaver sneered, smirking slightly at the flaxen haired woman.

Sparrow opened her mouth to respond but Garth suddenly cried, "Reaver, you're a genius!"

Reaver was taken aback by the sudden complement, but soon gathered everything together. He grinned in an obnoxious way, "I know. I'm surprised it took you that long to realise my brilliance."

Hammer threw Garth an irritated look and groaned, "Don't complement him. You'll give him an ego stroke."

"'This is not a blatant lie'," Garth repeated, ignoring Hammer. "That means it's not an obvious lie, doesn't mean it is not a lie."

"'If they are one of four'," Garth moved to the first door, "I'm guessing it is the four tests." He quickly rushed to the second, "'If this door saves us all'," Garth scratched his chin in thought again. "I'm guessing this will transport us to a safe location."

"Well done," Reaver yawned. "But there is still the small matter of which one we take."

Garth thought out loud, "The first states we will be lost if we take that one, so I'm guessing it may not be that one. The second will save us all, and the third says we will die but that could easily be a lie."

"Second then," Reaver walked towards the door but Sparrow blocked his way. "We need to make sure it's the right door," she snapped. "Reaver, if we take a random one we could end up in serious trouble."

Reaver groaned. The very small amount of patience he had been clinging onto was growing very thin. "Garth my good old man, pick a bloody door already."

Sparrow eyes narrowed, _typical Reaver. Doesn't he realise Garth taking this at a slow pace for our own safety. Why is he so selfish! _"He is trying Reaver, but he is being hesitant because our lives could be at risk if we take the wrong door. If all you are going to do is complain," She moved away, "please, be my guest."

Reaver stood still for a moment, his dark eyes glaring at Sparrow but she stood unmoved. He turned on his heel and went to aid Garth. "So, one door will make us lost, the second will save us and the third could kill us. Is it really that hard a choice?"

Hammer joined in on the conversation, "But the third seems to be the only one that is edgy on the truth. The others are pretty straight forward once you get to understand them. The first will get us lost, the second will send us somewhere safe but we're not looking for somewhere safe. We're looking for the next chamber. Then there is the third, where there is a fifty-fifty chance we could be killed."

Garth stood in silence, his tired eyes moving from one door to the other with a sombre expression. He carried on in this trance for several minutes. The silence seemed almost unbreakable. But it was broken by one word which sent shivers down the heroes and made their hearts skip a pace. Reaver turned and blurted out that one word, "Lucien!" The heroes jumped and the two women grabbed their weapons and Garth frantically looked side to side. However, Reaver stood unmoved and stared up at the orb lit ceiling.

"What are you doing?" barked Garth, once confirming Lucien was not in sight. "Lucien is not here!"

Reaver ignored him and began to speak to the ceiling, "it's obvious its Lucien so just tell us and save us all this unnecessary waiting around! He is the only one who would want revenge on us all." He mumbled something about his shot, but it was interrupted by Theresa.

"_**I never once stated it was Lucien," **_Theresa's voice entered their minds yet again._** "These challenges are here for a reason pirate. Wait and you will see."**_

"So it's not Lucien?" asked Reaver, who was growing increasingly impatient with all the thinking Garth had been mulling over.

"_**I never once stated it was not Lucien," **_even though Theresa's voice was in an impassive tone like usual, Sparrow could not help feeling as if Theresa was taunting Reaver.

If Theresa was trying to wind Reaver up, she was succeeding immensely. He growled, grabbing his pistol and pointed it to the ceiling. "How about I make a few guesses other than Lucien, will that make you spare me my sanity?"

"_**You may guess Reaver," **_Theresa impassively stated, puzzling all the heroes including Reaver. He shook himself out of it and ticked various names off by holding up his finger, "T.O.B.Y, The Spire, The Temple of Light," both Hammer and Sparrow glared at Reaver for that comment. "McConnell's Labyrinth ("I think he made that up," whispered Hammer), Meredith Sock," Sparrow raised her eyebrow, "The Black Pearl, The Temple of-" Reaver's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Are you even listening to me?"

"_**I am indeed listening."**_

"Well, have I guessed correctly yet?

"_**You may have, then again, you may not have."**_

"You told me you would tell me if I got it right!?"

"_**I merely stated you could guess, I never once said I would elaborate on your guesses."**_

Sparrow could not help smiling at the seer's words. "I think this is the first time I've seen Theresa show a sense of humour," muttered Hammer in a low tine so only Sparrow could hear.

Sparrow nodded, her grin growing wider as she saw Reaver's face darken in frustration. Reaver was about to say something else but Garth had stepped in. Tired with the pirate's endless insolence, he sent a mild shock spell in Reaver's direction. He jumped as the sparks of electricity hit his arm and rubbed it furiously. He passed a spiteful glare to Garth. "Punched by holier-than-thou over there, electrocuted by _daddy_," the thief then snarled. "What next?" Probably a question he would grow to regret later.

Hammer tightened her grip on her giant hammer and raised it off her shoulder, swinging it forebodingly. "Next it's Hammer time!" she cried cheerfully, eager to have her turn at hitting Reaver. The pirate's eyes widened slightly.

"I believe it is the third door," Garth told them hurriedly, his eyes moving from Hammer to Reaver. He looked both concerned and eager to know what would happen next.

"Are you certain Garth?" Sparrow questioned him, as the others grew silent. "You're not just trying to shut Reaver up?"

"I'm pretty certain it is," he smiled at her, the skin around his eyes crinkled slightly. She nodded, causing Reaver sigh with relief.

"Finally," breathed Reaver as he made his way to the door. Sparrow was about to warn him about something but Garth silenced her by placing his finger upon his lip. She smiled and watched. At first he seemed quite hesitant but finally he reached for the brass knob and opened the door with a small twist. Sparrow arrived behind him just as the door opened with a small creak. They peered through the open doorway but all they could see was a pitch black abyss.

"_**You have passed the first test, well done Garth."**_

"Well, there is the al clear," Reaver took a step into the darkness. He cried out in surprise when he fell into the abyss as if swallowed. Sparrow grinned when she heard him hit the ground. "Enjoying your trip _my dear?_"

"If this door saves us all, to the right you will fall," Garth quoted with a chuckle. "I am sorry about that Reaver."

"Ah well, at least I have something soft to land on," Hammer said brightly. "Watch out Reaver." Hammer jumped into the dark doorway, laughing as she disappeared. Sparrow followed, lowering herself down carefully with Garth in tow.

***********

Bernard was a rather successful bartender. During his countless years behind the counter, he had thought he had seen it all. He had seen the faint glimmer of sunken ships far out on the horizon while looking idly out of the tavern window. He had witnessed the wisps of tortured souls pass the night sky on the mournful hours of darkness. He had spied the well renowned hero of Bowerstone pass through his doors, and she was a fine sight to any inhabitant of Bloodstone. He had even caught a look of contempt pass Reaver's handsome features when he found out that The Narcissus had beaten him to a far distant treasure. Yes, Bernard had thought he had seen everything until that night when two strangers appeared in his tavern.

Salty Jack was a pirate who was well on with his years. His ship had sunk under attack many years ago and ever since he wandered the rooms of Bernard's tavern usually intoxicated out of his mind. He babbled on about ghost pirates, talking books, Oakvale spirits, immortals walking among them, and all that other _nonsense _which the old pirate went on and on about.

"'Tis a sad day when a pirate no longer has a sea to sail," muttered Salty Jack between hiccups as he sat at Bernard's counter, elbows resting on the smooth surface. Bernard merely nodded along with him, without taking notice to what the elderly pirate was saying. "It's like a bird without a sky, a monk without a temple, a Norm without an Aggie, terrible..." he looked down at the empty glass on the counter with a sad look. "What 'bout a refill mate?"

"I think..." Bernard began, looking at the woozy pirate, who was beginning to sway slightly on his seat, "...you have had enough." Bernard began to wipe the surface of his counter, removing the empty glass. Salty Jack was about to open his mouth but another voice issued from within the tavern, "A beer you say? I see why not, a beer bartender."

Bernard turned his head to the owner of the false jovial voice which was painted with an upper class accent. The man was concealed dark robe similar to those a shadow worshipper would wear and half of his face was concealed behind an orange mask with a peculiar design. He set a few gold pieces on the counter and Bernard immediately began to ready another beer for the aged pirate. The robed man sat down next to Salty Jack and the bartender felt a little shiver run down his spine. A loud purr came from below and he looked down to see a large black feline creature by the robed man's feet.

"Here you go," Bernard passed the beer to Salty Jack, who guzzled it like a dry sponge in water, not savouring the bitter taste upon his tongue. The robed man watched and his expression was unreadable due to the mask but Bernard would roughly guess it was an expression of disapproval. Once the pirate had drained his glass, he smacked his lips and turned to the robed man. "Well thanks mate, nice ta know there's some respectable lads out there," he passed Bernard an exasperated look. "How can I repay ya?"

"From what I have gathered," the robed man said. "There are many ways you can help me." He held out his hand and Jack shook it, "I am Alastair. I hear from two chaps in Bowerstone that you can help me on a certain tome I need taming." Bernard pretended to sort out the bottles on the back shelves while his ears remained on the conversation.

"Eh?"

Alastair leaned forward and whispered something in Jack's ear which made him sober up faster than anyone Bernard had ever seen. He paled considerably and quickly glanced around hissing, "You shouldn't say such things out loud young man. Holy Avo, if someone had heard ya say that out loud." He grabbed Alastair and dragged him away to where the rooms were, the feline slunk after them. Usually Bernard would have left them, no interest into what they were doing but something told him that something interesting was going to pursue this meeting. He asked a young barmaid to watch over the counter before rushing off towards the rooms.

He waited outside the smallest room door where the two men were with bated breath, peering through a small gap which formed between the door and a wall. Inside Alastair and Jack were whispering furiously while the feline merely sat watching the two men. Even though Bernard could only hear a few of the exchange words, the conversation was on going.

Alastair dug within his robe and pulled out the ancient book which caused Salty Jack to gasp. Bernard moved closer, "The **Normanomicon**," Jack awed, his mouth gaped open. He gave Alastair a suspicious look, "Where'd you get it from? Last I heard those two boys had it, how'd you get it?"

"I'm here on their behalf," Alastair always seemed to have a way with lying. Even though this seemed to fool Bernard, it did not however fool Jack. "They are having trouble with it. When they try certain incantations with it, it seems to spawn hollow men and nothing more. And I am- I mean they are certain that is not what is meant to happen."

Salty Jack gave Alastair a suspicious look, "Oh yeah. What incantation are ya struggling with lad?"

Alastair smiled, "That is neither here nor there. They told me you helped them last time, and I was wondering if you could possibly repeat the favour."

"Oh yeah," Salty Jack shook his head, and Bernard could tell he was growing suspicious of this dark stranger. "Last time it cost those boys an arm and a leg. If I were ya, I'd leave things well alone."

Salty Jack attempted to leave but Alastair grabbed his arm and pushed him back. The black feline creature hissed and Bernard's eyes focussed on the cat. Its fur stood on end and its back legs bended. It looked as if it was about to pounce. "Now, now," Alastair wagged a finger at the pirate. "I was hoping we could stay on friendly terms but if you're going to be like that," The large cat hissed again. "I may have to get a little _un_friendly."

"N-now now," Jack whimpered, stepping back. "It's not my fault the b-book doesn't like ya."

Alastair raised an eyebrow, "What do you mean? It is a book, how can it not like anyone?"

Salty Jack shook his head once again, and his whimpered voice grew stronger as he spoke. "That is no ordinary book. It chooses its masters, it whispers to them while they are asleep. Fills them with their dreams, sinks them with their fears. It preys on their inner torments; its victims are usually the weak."

The large feline laughed, "I understand why it choose Rupert then."

Salty Jack's eyes seemed to bulge a little, "I-it talks!?"

"Yes she talks," Alastair stated, dismissing it with a wave of the hand. "So it is alive?"

"Of course," Salty Jack's eyes never left the feline who was watching him very closely.

Alastair cocked his head in curiosity, "How do you know so much about this particular tome?"

Salty Jack shifted uncomfortably, "Someone I sailed with long ago told me of its tales. He explained various things, drunk out of his mind of course but he usually speaks with a silver tongue no matter his state. And after that my curiosity seemed to be peaked. I found various things from other sources and I grew an understanding with it over time." His aged eyes surveyed the book with a lust filled gaze which Alastair recognised as one similar to his own. "It chose me ya know."

"Chose you for what?" The conversation was growing thicker with suspicion and mistrust on both parts. Alastair was beginning to think this man was out of his senses. His 'pet' hissed and spoke in her whispered voice, "He speaks the truth Alastair, the book is aware I can smell it."

"Well you convinced her," his grip on the book tightened. "But I still need a bit of convincing, who was this stranger? How did he know so much about this book?"

Salty Jack shifted and took a small step back, brushing up against a bed which stood behind him. "I forget his name," Alastair did not believe him but he had no more time for wild goose chases. "'Twas a long time ago. But-" he held up his hand when he saw the feline come closer, "-I know what this book can do. You are aware of what happened the last time this book was used?"

It was an angry snarl which answered him. The feline moved forward, her teeth bared at the man. "I was there! I watched the destruction as my last settlement was engulfed with shadows, extinguishing the lives of those simple peasants like a flame upon a candle. I remember struggling among the circus of screams though I was merely a spirit I could still feel the weight of every one of them. Not that I cared, the blood of peasants means nothing to me, especially those who resulted in my death. It was an unfortunate result, merely because I was no longer of this world to enjoy it more."

"That is its lament?" Bernard whispered to himself from outside the door, watching the figures. "It is disappointed it was not alive to enjoy the slaughter?"

The creature paused, her large eyes focussed on the door behind her and Bernard fell silent, praying to the gods he didn't believe in, that she had not heard him. Her large yellow eyes narrowed and returned to the pirate who was watching her, his eyes equalled the fear Bernard himself felt.

"As touching as your thirst for disaster is my pet," Alastair replied in a bored tone as if he had heard that _sentiment _on several occasions. "I return back to the topic, I need the book but it fails to do what the incantation is meant to." He took a step closer towards the elderly pirate who shrunk back further. "I need you to help me; it would interfere with both our plans if things don't go according to plan."

Jack snorted, plucking up more bravery, "It wouldn't bother me if it didn't work."

"Oh I think it will," Alastair placed a hand on Jack's shoulder and he winced at the robed man's touch. "Let us just say, if you don't help us, I'm afraid you will no longer have the time for your beer."

Jack growled, pushing the man's hand off his shoulder. "Do what you like, one call from me and yeh'll find yerself swarmed with pirates."

Alastair sighed, adjusting his orange mask which had gone a bit askew. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I'm going to have to be a little unfriendly now." His dark eyes narrowed from behind the mask, "Salty Jack, do you know where your precious alcohol comes from?"

Jack shrugged, "The ships bring them in. Usually smuggled, why?"

"My pet," he turned to his companion who watched him curiously. "Go out and tell my men to burn the shipyard."

"What!?" Salty Jack stood straight, his eyes widened with fear, "Y-yer bluffing..." However, he was interrupted by frantic cries coming from outside the tavern.

"By Skorm's rein, Reaver's ship is on fire!" A distant pirate called from outside and Jack froze. "HURRY UP! GRAB BUCKETS, HE'LL KILL US IF HE FINDS OUT!"

Bernard gasped but luckily Jack's words drowned out the sharp intake of breath, "H-how did you do that?" Bernard squinted and saw the feline was sitting very still; its large yellow eyes were hidden by dark eyelids.

"Still think I'm bluffing?" Alastair asked almost cheerfully, and a laugh escaped his lips. "So are you willing to tell us or do my men have to burn the whole shipyard down?" Jack gulped and Alastair continued to taunt. "Imagine Bloodstone as dry as a bone, imagine walking those dark streets sober. Imagine your mayor's reaction when he returns, ship and alcohol deprived. One little word that you had anything to do with it and he will come after you." Alastair tutted. "I've never met the man myself but Cornelius talked a lot about him, usually cursing his name. And he told me something about him removing someone's toes one-" Jack winced, "-by one."

"Alright!" he suddenly blurted out, and quickly looked down at his feet. "I've already lost two to frostbite." He shuddered at the thought, "There are a few words carved into the back cover. They're barely visible."

The feline opened her eyes, her head turned slightly back to the doorway and Bernard felt his body suddenly tense up. Luckily Alastair did not seem to notice as his eyes were directly focussed on the book. He flicked through the ancient pages which were slightly yellowed with age. When Jack focussed on what could be seen of this robed man's face, he noticed there was no light in his eyes. No reflection of the candles that burned above, no flicker of life. They were merely dark and grim, and the essence of malice hung around him as if he were breathing it out.

"By the soul of Avo and Skorm, Who are you?" Jack's voice was haunted by a tone of fear, a ghost of a whimper.

Alastair chuckled but his eyes never left the book, "Who I am bears no concern however, who you are does." Alastair continued to flick through the pages and Jack wondered if he was being slow on purpose to taunt more. "Tell me, why did you not sail the _Marianne_ when you obtained her from the hero? Was it because of your age; are you frightened of the sea after it took your son?"

Jack's lip trembled, his eyes fell and he shook his head. The stranger's words cut through him and reminded him of a past he had forgotten. A past no-one in Bloodstone cared about. "How-how did you know?"

"I can see within the deepest depths of your being. A power I gained by mistake, one which is quite taxing at times." The man's voice wavered slightly in tiredness but strengthened with his next words. "I also know your son is not dead; he faked his death after he owed dept to Reaver. He is currently living on Knothole Island with his wife who is expecting his first child." The tone he used to speak showed no emotion and was plain as if commenting on a tedious event he showed no interest in. He carried on scanning the pages; obviously more harsh taunts were on their way. "How does it make you feel now you know your son abandoned you?"

"No!" The words were iced with bitter anguish and a cry escaped Jack's lips. "My son would never leave me-"He edged around the robed man, neither he nor his beast made any attempt to stop him. Salty Jack tore open the door; Bernard had to throw himself to the side to stop the old man trampling on him. Jack flew out of the tavern like a speeding bullet, crying the name 'William' over and over as if waiting for the heavens to grant him with a reply.

Bernard hid behind a wall, his heard beating against his chest, threatening to break out and run away with Salty Jack. "Shame he couldn't stay my pet," Alastair turned the very last yellow page with a sigh. The feline's pink tongue flickered out of her mouth for a second as if tasting the air; Bernard was beginning to wonder if she could sense him. He would go but fear seemed to have immobilized his limbs.

Alastair's eyes focussed on the back cover, where five simple words were carved upon the back. Stains oozed over the imprint of the letters as if the book had once bleed as these words were carved in, Alastair could hear the book scream these words in his head as his eyes gazed over them.

_**This is not a Dream**_

The words sounded familiar somehow. He was unsure of where he had heard it but the words rang a bell in his head. As he read the imprint over and over, he could feel the power that seeped from book wash over him, drowning him in a sense of unawareness like the way the sea washed over the shore, drowning the sand at the edge. His feline companion cocked her head curiously, watching the robed man stare at the book.

Ribbons of blue appeared from its covers, stretching out like tendrils, grabbing a hold of the robed man who showed no sign of resisting. It flickered around his body, draining him of his consciousness. He suddenly felt drowsy, yet unaware of the blue lights which flashed from the book. A sudden sensation of falling took over and Alastair felt him slip from one world to another in a matter of seconds.

And when he finally he 'awoke', he found himself somewhere he never thought possible. He was in the book's _**dream.**_

******

Bernard remained silent after peering through the opening of the door and found the robed man standing still. He carefully turned his head, scanning the room for the feline companion who had remained by his side. Nothing. Not a hair of cat to be found, the room was still and the wall lamps grew dimmer with the silence. Bernard gathered all the bravery he had left and took a step into the room.

The rooms faded wallpaper looked ever so dull in the dying light and from what he could see of the bed, its crumpled sheets were speckled with dirt and old blood. The number of travellers who had occupied this room had each left a mark upon it, and Bernard was more familiar to these marks than he was to anyone in Bloodstone. Never had he expected to leave his own mark upon it one day.

"Well, well," came the taunting whisper of a shadow. He turned at once but was send flying across the room, crashing into a bedside table. He struggled up but a giant paw pushed him back down and it remained on his chest. He gasped, looking up to see himself face to face with the feline.

"Well, well," it repeated, a smile was shaped upon the cat's jaws. "Look what we have here, a mouse I see."

"D-don't kill me," he pleaded, still struggling to get up but the paw weighed him down. "I-I'll cry out! Someone will hear me and-"Another paw fell on his mouth and muffled the rest of his words. Its sharp claws dug into the side of his mouth, he could hear his checks tearing slightly under the pressure the paw put on it.

"Believe me..." she hissed her tongue flickered across his ear as she spoke. "You will scream but no-one will hear."

That night Bernard realised he had seen everything. But as he lay, looking deep into the feline's yellow eyes, Bernard pondered over one thought: Some things were better left unexplained and he wished he had not seen everything.

Bernard could not help seeing the bitter irony of the situation. His curiosity was killed by the cat.

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**NOTES: Sorry about the really long wait, my brain had been fried by the exams but now there gone :D I'm on summer break (WOOHOO! Seven weeks off no homework or nagging teachers) so I hope updates will come faster though I'm not setting any dates (don't want to tempt lateness). Originally this chapter was meant to be longer but I had to split it into two chapters. **

**I don't really like this chapter but I'm way too self-critical and paranoid (Yes, I think I rushed it slightly but in my defence I was writing this in a thunder storm xD). I would like to thank everyone who has reviewed it really makes my day :D and those who are reading but are just too shy to review xD. **

**Hope you enjoyed it! And I apologize for any mistakes. :D**

**P.S. I know the ending was slightly cheesy but the thunder was distracting me! xD**


	7. Morbid Innocence

**Sorry for the rather long, long, long wait. Let me just say, WRITER'S BLOCK SHOULD NOT EXIST! But after painful redrafting and redrafting this was the best I could do. Thank you everyone for your kind reviews and I have hopefully replied to them all exceptt he ones that I can't which I shall do now.**

**hahahahah - Thank you very much, glad you like it :D  
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**D3R3K - Hopefully this was soon enough, thank you!**

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**Chapter Seven: Morbid Innocence **

The thoughts that haunt our minds as our bodies lay idle for timely rest, known to most as dreams normally are hidden reflections of the mind which holds them. Those who dream of wealth and power usually belong to those who want more in life, whether it is in greed or welfare. Those who dwell on dark twisted visions, such as pleasurable torture and heart wrenching screams which bless the ear can often be found in the guilty, such as the common life taker or slaver. Those who replay the sleeping thoughts of love and passion are often those whose hearts are heavy with either bliss or longing. Those who sleep restlessly with the thought of children in trouble often belong to the minds of frightened parents, longing for a safer world. Alas, those poor souls who cling onto the past, replaying haunting memories or tragic events are usually those haunted souls who remorse their dark, hidden past. A dream state which is commonly found among heroes...

There is another word for these types of dreams...or at least some of the circumstances previously mentioned. A word commonly used at children's bedsides...Nightmares.

Alastair thought that The Normanomicon's dreamlike state (being the book of the dead and possibly one of the most powerful tomes in existence) would be like a Nightmare Plain. Like a dry wasteland with a misty cloud hung over it, with piles upon piles of corpses lying upon the barren terrain. Dead trees with twisted trunks homed to the bones of black crows which had died within their entangled branches. Perhaps the odd scream and cries of anguished pain from the tortured souls of the underworld, crying out across the blackened sky, screaming to the heavens which refused to exist for them. However, this was not what Alastair saw.

He had never seen a place look so _alive. _The brightness of the countless colours which surrounded him made him feel quite nauseous. The bright blue sky accompanied by the odd pearl white, fluffy blobs of cloud shone clear like a painted canvas. The plant life brought a more earthly colouring, deep shades of green which seemed to roll on for miles in rich pastures and the odd yellow of wheat fields. The subtle colour of the distant cottages made the place look like some sort of town. He could spy an inn in the distance, and a large bridge which seemed to span over some sort of entrance. And Alastair swore he smelled the sea. Trees stood in random places, some small with thin creamy coloured trunks. Others large with thick bronzed bark chipped in an artistic way.

A grey streak of earth lay on upon the ground in front of him and at once, he realised it to be a country path. Slightly disappointed at the nauseous landscape, Alastair began to follow the path but stopped at once realising something. There was no sound. No birds chirping away like they usually did in this sort of atmosphere. No children laughing, no men shouting, no sign of life whatsoever. Absolutely nothing! He could not even hear his own footfalls upon the path. The place seemed to be deprived of sound.

He carried on walking down the quiet path, casting his eyes around the hushed landscape. Another thing he seemed to notice was everything was so still. No gentle breezes swaying grass, no birds hovering above. He was not quite sure if this was a blessing or a curse. Sure the sound of life was comforting and the odd silence did provoke suspicion, but did he really want to listen to false sounds? The forged sounds of children playing and woman laughing, it would be quite depressing to listen to the constant waves of artificial information.

Was he the only one here? A question he frequently asked himself as he walking down the path, his eyes darting from one side to the other in mild suspicion. He inhaled the air around him which was dense with morning smells one would usually find in a close knit town. The smell of fresh baking from a bakers, the smell of sweet summer bloom and of course, the strange scent of new grass rising from the earth. He let out a sigh of impatience when he looked around; there was no indication of where to go.

_What an odd place, _he thought to himself. The tone of thought was neither irritated nor confused; it held a rather bemused theme. Alastair stopped for a second, taking it all in. Something was not right; the sheer brilliance of the colours did not match the atmosphere. The place looked vivacious yet was languid, no-one, nothing seemed to exist. It was now that Alastair's chain of thoughts held an irritated tone. What was the point? How was this going to help? He cursed the tome, kicking a small stone in frustration. The small piece of rock skidded across the path, halting in front of a small cottage not too far from the path.

That is when it happened.

The sudden outburst of raw emotion seemed to cause a stir within the 'serene' environment. The whole place flickered, losing itself in a blur of colours. It was as if he had said a password or flicked a switch, causing a reaction within the book's image. It caught Alastair by surprise and he found himself knocked over by the sudden force of this change. It only lasted for a few minutes before it returned to normal. Alastair helped himself up but stopped when he saw what surrounded him.

There dotted among the town he had already walked through were people. Unmoving; still, lifeless people. They stood in various positions; a woman not too far from Alastair was leaning against a wall with her mouth open in a strange way as if halfway through a sentence. Next to her was a small child stationary with its head looking up at her as if it was listening before it was frozen still. A man with a stick in the air was in a still glare with a bunch of children who were all turned away with their feet paused in the air, a look of amusement forced upon their shiny faces. It was strange but began to fall in place. The people who were frozen in their stance, the still memories, were the victims of the book. Alastair began to see how sinister this place was becoming but the way it was set out; it had a childlike innocence to it. Alastair lovedit!

"How fascinating!" he murmur to himself silently as he began to move between them, his eyes watching them with an eager expression. His curiosity burned but the patience that was the wick of his candle grew short; he wanted to know what was going on now. He surveyed the people, trying to figure out a pattern so he could follow but they seemed to be dotted around randomly. Statues, that is what they were, statues of souls fallen to the books power. The atmosphere around was neither warm nor cold and their faces, showed no signs of fear or anger. Just day by day activity and that is when Alastair stopped in his tracks.

What if this was contagious? What if these souls were the ones who had too wandered into the books mind just as he done? What if these were the souls rejected, the ones who the book did not 'like' as Salty Jack had put it? Alastair looked around, finding a possible argument to these theories and the more he mulled, the more he realised how ridiculous they were. The souls, the frozen souls that stood in front of him were native to this village. They wore dated clothing one would usually see in a village years ago. Perhaps these were merely images used to frighten him away. Well, Alastair was not easily frightened.

"You're images are impressive book," he spoke aloud, and even though only silence escaped his lips, he knew the book could hear him. "But I am not the sort of man who fears the dead. I have seen many men, woman and children alike fall before me with a spin of a wheel, engulfed within a fate chosen by the Gods. Why would you think I would fear mere images? It is an insult almost." Alastair laughed in sardonic manner, hoping to rile the book into revealing itself. "And they call you the most powerful tome in existence. Bah, looks to me as if Meredith Sock's books are more intimidating."

Alastair waited for a response but none came. Only silence was issued and Alastair could feel an anger rising within his chest, burning the back of his throat in irritation. He walked among the statues of souls, his eyes studying them one by one. There was nothing which really made any of them stand out, apart from the fact they were frozen still. It was not until he wandered further into the village that he discovered something, something that he was sure that was not there before.

A young girl, no older than six he would guess, stood behind a gate in the near distance. She was frozen just like the others, in a simple pose. But there was something about her, an aura of innocence, however also an aura of importance. Yet she looked just like the rest. Her dark blue eyes were fixated somewhere in the distance, a rather dreamy look on her face. From the simple scruffy clogs to the dated dress. Even her red hair was in the same style as the other children. But he was sure she was different, a feeling he could say, told him she was significant.

**You are more skilled than I gave you credit for, **a voice which sounded neither male nor female echoed within Alastair's mind. Alastair stopped in mid thought, and a smile etched its way onto his partially hidden face. He was finally getting somewhere...

"I was wondering when you would arrive," Alastair replied in a forged uninterested voice, hiding the excitement which pounded at his chest. The tension within Alastair was so great; he failed to notice sound had returned to the location.

**I have no trust in you.**

Alastair frowned, "What an odd way to start an acquaintance. Usually trust is the third thing we deal with."

**Oh, I am unfamiliar with this aspect. Please, what are the two other things must we settle with?**

Alastair's frown deepened. "Well, I usually start off with names. Then I go on to how much of a threat they are to me, or what benefits their acquaintance could bring to me.

**Names are merely titles; they are no use to me.**

"On the contrary my dear-"Alastair paused thinking of a suitable word "-book, names are what assigns us with who we are. Without them we are merely people, a sheep in a herd with no significant way to individualise ourselves. Our personalities are merely a quirk within each but combined with a name we are a person, an individual. Everything has a name, and rightly so. And they too associate with us. A hill, without a name it would just be a clump of common earth. We would be confused without names, and our memories would fade faster without them. To abandon a name, is to abandon what something is."

**Compelling...yet I still have no faith in you.**

"Why not?" Alastair asked, not sure who he was talking to. If these statues of flesh were alive then they would be mocking his appeared madness, thinking he was replying to voices in his head. Alastair chuckled at the thought but paused to listen to the book's reason.

**You wear a mask both physically and spiritually. Part of you is hidden from me and yourself. Yet I can glimpse part of your soul, its dark paths were difficult to see. No light within them, no remorse, no empathy. Just a raw streak of passion, and scornful hatred masked so well within a jovial form. A man of his word twisted into battle. The man who gets others to fight in his stead. The man who brings the past into the future, dragging it away from death. I hear a woman screaming and a child crying, and a father fit for revenge but all faded now with callous laughter. It all leads to you and your game. You walk among shadows, bleak and distance yet they are within you. You would rob a broken heart of its blood for the sake of a game. You are an evil man.**

Alastair no longer had to feign boredom as this speech had made no movement within him. He was tired of all the tedious chatter and was eager to fulfil his quest on to this forsaken book. "Please, you're flattering me too much," he mocked, beginning to walk towards the little girl. "So tell me, you pass judgement on me about being hidden yet I have yet to experience any of your true abilities. So, you looked into my soul, perhaps one of the most private places of any man. So, you need to reciprocate by showing me yours." It was more of an order than a request, forced with such vigour Alastair did not expect it to work.

**I am not in control. I have no agenda, no devotion, and no alliance. I am merely a link between worlds above your own, the link between life and death, and others too horrible to mention. I am not in power; the power is to those who are able to wield me. The best I can do is limiting my power to stop those who I do not like. It is rare for a weapon to choose its master.**

When Alastair reached the girl, and he noticed that behind her was a path leading away from the town. He followed but continued his conversation with the book. "That explains the brothers of little wit, playing around and refusing to have fun. But I don't understand why you won't work for me, I need that spell yet I cannot get it to work. It refuses me."

**It is an evil spell.**

"That is not the reason and I know it. You feed off the weak, I know the stories, and I know what happened. Though my spell is different, it requires something, something that is not easy to gain. And I need you to tell me for the sake of the worlds you hold within you."

**Yet at the cost of your own world, you wish to bring a great evil to your plane of existence. Souls will be vanquished.**

"You have done something similar before."

**That was different.**

"Yes, that was a pathetic villager. I am a true man not a frightened child, why do you forsake me so much!?"

**You do not know.**

"Then explain it if it was _so different."_

**It happened years ago. To me thousands could have past, to you hundreds. I was worshipped by the fallen, and the scattered remains of Shadow Worshippers. Held sacred and was not touched. I was in blissful harmony yet I could feel the wind grow colder as the rebellion grew closer. They were to use me to build their empire but I was snatched away in the night by fools. A woman, sleek and sly, a serpent snuck among their nest and snatched their lives to feed her pleasure. She found me hidden and took what was not hers. She delivered me to a place where death soon struck. **

**A quiet cottage in a peaceful town, where two men dwelled together and hid me from sight. The woman, the shadow Empress herself protected me from the eyes of the law. The worlds I held longed for her, begged her to release them but she was not taken by their enchanted whispers. It was only a matter of time before she was hunted and taken away, leaving us with the villagers. **

**We were untouched for a while, how long I am not precise but dust had certainly gathered underneath those floorboards. But then I was discovered by a broken heart, a man of extreme beauty and youth. He was taunted restlessly until he gave in, until his weak shell of resistance shattered before me. He took me away from the town, and summoned the power which called to him and brought them into this world. He begged them, he asked them to immune him against time, and cheat death like they had promised in the whispers. They granted his wish at no small price. His village, his life, his family were all destroyed in a wave of shadows. **

**The Shadows laughed at him as he cried out in remorse. They gave him a seal before setting up a lair in the place which had once been so alive. In a fit of mournful rage, the man threw me, threw me into the murky waters, believing I myself was the cause of his pain. **

"Then what happened?" Alastair inquired, finding this insight of the past rather intriguing.

**I was found by another man, a robed mage of the dead. He locked me away in a dark chest and placed me in a tomb where nobody should ever find me. For good measure, he blessed my chest with a curse, to make sure no-one ever made the same mistake again. I never saw either of the men again; I wish I had seen that eternal mage of the dead. I respected him more than anyone I had ever met. Only few have touched my cover and not felt overwhelmed by the power I contain. **

"A mage of the dead? Ah, a necromancer, they are rare to find nowadays. I have always wanted to meet one, though in some sense I am one myself. I summoned a spirit into this world, but unfortunately I got more than I bargained for."

**It is the price you must pay for messing with things you have no control over. The dead should remain dead, not bound into this world in shadow form. Though a shadow spirit is merely the essence of what it once was, if that essence begins to seep into control, it can have disastrous consequences on the world. **

"Believe me, she is controlled well. But, again, we have travelled away from the topic of the spell. I need something, something which will unlock the power. I used to believe you had the answer but now I'm not too sure."

**Your faith wavers between so many things. **

"Give me reason to have faith in you, show me the truth. You hide, which makes me think you fear me. Reveal yourself and we can talk properly."

Thunder crashed in the skies above him as if his words had provoked a storm. The colours, the bright lively colours dissolved in a flash of lightning and the land stood bare below the sky which swirled in a dark vortex above him. Wind thrashed itself against Alastair's body, lifting his robe and causing it to swirl itself around him. His mask shuddered with the vibrations of the earth and Alastair tried to shield himself from the rain that lashed down, pelting him like watery bullets shot from the sky. He realised the land had sunk around him, leaving him standing on a lone hill, overlooking the images he faced before in a darker form. The still villagers were nothing but piles of bones lying upon the earth. Some skeletons had remained intact, warped out of shape however; their features distorted as if something had twisted them in a grotesque image. The sound of the howling wind was soon replaced by screams, heart wrenching screams calling out pleas of desperation.

The force of the wind overpowered Alastair and he crouched down, his feet dug firmly into the soft ground trying to grip himself on the land and not fall into the pit of bones which surrounded his hill. The rain seeped through his cloak, burning his skin the moment it made contact. Then there was a flash of colours and the land reverted back to its usually colourful form it was before the sudden storm took place.

"That is what the corners of my soul hold," a small voice spoke behind him. Alastair wheeled around and found himself face to face with something that was not there before.

Alastair found himself in the garden of a small cottage. The cottage was the same subtle stone colour of the others in the village. The small windows which seemed to inhabit every corner were a perfect square shape, the wood between the panes painted a strong white. The grass in the smaller garden was shorter than anywhere else he had ventured in this dream state; it was as if hundreds of feet had trampled it down to its last stem. It looked perfectly normal until he gazed next to an open gate that led to out to the village. To the left of that gate was a small gravestone and in front was a newly dug patch of earth.

A small carved angel was perched upon the gravestone's arched top, its little upturned face gazed at the sky and its tiny hands were clasped together as if praying up to Avo, pleading for his protection over the fallen soul she was made to protect. The circular wings were drooped low, and caused a perfect shadow over the fallen soul's name. _**Selena **_was engraved below but the woman's second name was lost in an infestation of green mould which oozed through the cracks, blocking her final identity. Below that the words _**Beautiful and Beloved mother to Sally and Rupert. And wife to Gareth **_bore its mark and identified her to Alastair almost immediately. The 'wife to Gareth' bore itself in a cold way. It was empty of positive emotion, no beloved, no beautiful, no faithful, just wife. Alastair could hear her husband's droning voice echo the words in his mind, it was almost obvious to him he did not love his wife. A tension perhaps? But this was driven out of his mind when he realised the owner of the voice was sat right next to the marker of the dead woman.

The owner of the voice looked no older than six, around the same age of the young girl he had witnessed earlier. He shared similar dark blue eyes only the blue was not as evident as they were in hers. They were much darker, and fit well with his dark hair which shone slightly as it was bathed in the dull sunlight. The boy was playing with a stuffed animal which he had wrapped his arms around the moment he noticed Alastair. Its fur was stripped in different shades of brown and light wool for the mane on its neck and for the tail. It looked like a small version of a horse for there was a patch of black material on each foot which most likely represented hooves. The young boy narrowed his eyes as Alastair loomed over him.

Alastair had always hated children, finding their activities and personalities tedious and demeaning. However, he knew if he was to gain the knowledge he wanted he would have to play along with the book's charade. Alastair smiled and pointed at the stuffed animal, "I say boy, what sort of creature is that?" he asked in his trademark jovial tone.

The boy scowled at Alastair and replied in cold tone, "It's a pony." But blushed at the amused expression that crossed over Alastair's face, "But it belongs to my sister." He hid the pony behind him and smiled at Alastair to hide the annoyance at not being able to play with his favourite toy. As the sleeve rolled back from the boy's shirt for a moment as he was placing the pony on the ground behind him, Alastair caught a glimpse of a couple of large dark bruises that blemished his fair skin. But when the sleeve fell back over them, the mystery which surrounded them was hidden and Alastair had no time to ponder over the state of the young boy.

"So," Alastair began, his eyes falling on the gravestone the boy was playing beside. "Did you know her?"

The boy slowly nodded, his tone void of anything as he spoke, "Yes, it was mother." He turned to the stone and looked at it with a sense of nostalgia but at the same time looked slightly lost. He was silent, no words were spoken from his small rose tinted lips and Alastair knew the illusion of the child had nothing more to say. The books words ran through Alastair's mind, each syllable repeating softly through the passage of memory. The child...most obviously, just like the frozen villagers, was an imprint of the dark deeds that unleashed out of the **Normanomicon. **The child was merely a footprint of an actual soul...what soul he was unsure of. But judging from the state of the frozen villagers, the boy wasn't a victim in the same sense as them.

Alastair took a logical stab in the dark, focusing on the tale the book had told him and aligning it to the one his shadowy companion had recited on many occasions. The name on the gravestone, the scorning words of his companion, it all linked together in some strange way. "Rupert," he said with a smile, and the child's eyes widened in horror. "Yes, you say names are not that important but you are forgetting the power one has over the other when their name is known."

**Perceptive mind indeed.**

The child had vanished leaving the gravestone of the woman alone. Alastair turned on the spot, looking up, causing his orange mask to shimmer in the false daylight. "Ah, we are back to the large scary voice are we?" He paced in front of the stone; his eyes surveyed all the landscape which surrounded him. With a small smile he pondered over the little boy, "I suppose there was a point in showing me the image of the child. Perhaps a hint, maybe a sacrifice must be made in order for the spell to fully cast? Is that it? Is that the grand secret, a sacrifice?" Alastair turned to walk away in all his smugness but was stopped in his tracks by the book's next words.

**Not any sacrifice.**

Alastair gritted his teeth in order to control the sudden anger which boiled inside of him. He was sick of cryptic messages, sick of pathetic information. Turning back, trying to maintain the smile that was plastered on his face he spoke in his usual tone remaining as calm as possible. "Not any sacrifice?" He repeated, the words bouncing from his tongue in a questionable manner. "What do you mean not _any _sacrifice?"

There was sudden high pitch shriek and the land inside the book shuddered for a moment before reverting back. The colours blurred and went duller than before. "What was that!?" Alastair demanded forcefully, dropping the jovial act and not bothering to hide the panic from his voice. Just as he was about question the sudden reaction again another voice entered the world.

"We have no time for games!" It hissed and just as Alastair expected, his shadowy companion suddenly materialised beside him. She had returned to her usual shadow state making her body blackened by a hazy mist. But though no evident features would provide him with the knowledge of her precise feelings, the piercing red eyes hinted she was not in the best of moods. Raising herself on her hind legs she spoke to the book in a more vigorous tone than he had. Though her eyes were in a different direction, Alastair could not help thinking the 'games' referred to him in some way

**You! Fiend of Skorm! Remove yourself from this world at once! The shadows are not welcome within me! I am merely your bridge; this is not your world, Leave at once!**

"If you have time for humans in your world," her eyes shot to Alastair for a second before returning her glare to the area around the gravestone, as if she could see something Alastair could not. "You have time for me. If you refuse to him, you refuse me and I do not take refusal lying down. I have crashed through your barrier and plead with you to divulge the information we need. Not only for our benefit, but for your own."

**Is that a threat fiend of Skorm?**

"It is neither a threat nor a fact. But a possibility to consider, perhaps an offer you could say. Do you believe that not giving this information to us will stop us from trying to solve it ourselves? Do you think limiting the power will make us give in? You may expect that from a human but the shadows are not as fickle, especially me. I will fight you; I will read every single incantation and drain all your power until you'll be begging for release."

Alastair stepped in, not wanting his 'pet' to get too big for her metaphoric boots. "She is right, and may I add humans are not all _fickle. _But imagine it like you said; imagine being free from all the hands of the corrupt or the ignorant. Locked away in a chest like that mage of the dead provided. We could give you that once more help us achieve what we want, help us with the incantation. Then we will lock you away just like that mage of the dead did. We will bind a curse to the lock and scare away those who wish to lay your hands on your covers. However," Alastair once again returned to his jovial tone. "Fail to recognise this opportunity we are granting you, I will tear the pages from your very spine and listen to you scream." He ended it with a smile and a playful tone, and the world's colour once again lost its brightness and dulled even more.

**You make a good vessel for the fiend of Skorm. And I was beginning to believe all the true Shadow Worshippers had died many years ago. I long for a peaceful existence within myself, ignorant to the other worlds. That mage of the dead brought me harmony with the worlds I link together. I was not troubled until two fools disturbed my rest. Yet they spoke words foreign to your world, and only those special few have succeeded in that. Could you really provide me with peace? Or is this some sort of deception you two have planned? Is there any hope?**

"Believe me I keep my word because once the deed is done, once the _**Rise **_is complete there will be no further need for you. And locking you away so no-one will be able to get their hands on you could be quite handy for our plan." Alastair tried to keep the overwhelming feeling of triumph hidden from the book, but even Alastair could not suppress the feeling of arrogant glee. He awaited the book's reply, eager to know if the battle was over and won. His companion did not show so much enthusiasm and merely stood waiting for the reply with the element of calmness wrapped up in a hazy blackened body.

**I will provide an answer to your problem in exchange for the peace you have offered. You agree that once you are done, you will provide me with a chest and lock me away with the blessing of a curse to those who try and snatch me?**

"We agree," the shadow hissed, slowing falling back onto all fours.

"Yes we agree," Alastair confirmed. "Now if you please, we are missing something. You earlier mentioned a 'sacrifice'? Could you please enlighten us with further detail?"

**The spell requires another voice to read it aloud in a tongue foreign to this world. But it does not require a random voice, not one of your choosing but the voice of one who has previously harnessed my power. **

"Damn!" Alastair cursed, turning away from his shadowy companion. "The two brothers of little wit, damn! I sent them away to –"

"Were you not listening or are you really that brainless?" The shadow sneered in a snarl at him, her red eyes piercing bitterly into the back of him. "The book stated a soul that has harnessed the power, not dabbled around with it for fun."

"So..." Alastair turned back to her, returning her bitter stare with a lightened touch. "Who exactly are we talking about? This Rupert who keeps coming up, the child you showed me? Surely he'd no longer be around. I would have heard of an immortal named Rupert, he must have perished somehow. Perhaps a descendant of his...But no, it states his voice. How troubling, I think we are looking for a needle in a haystack."

**That is not all.**

"Oh please, bless us with some more _good _news."

**For the spell to correctly begin, the voice of the previous harnesser must speak the words. During the incantation, the life of the harnesser must spill onto the pages to strengthen the bond between the speaker and the spell. His energy will be the fuel of the ritual. Then the power will be directed to you, Shadow Worshipper and you will command the rest.**

"His life must spill onto the pages? Does that mean he must be killed?"

**No, his death is unnecessary...but the intenseness of the ritual may deplete his energy which could lead to death but his death is not needed for the incantation to work.**

"Then the life that must spill...?"

"His blood," the shadow answered before he could fully finish the question. "The life of every being is in its blood."

Alastair let a small groan escape him, "Blood? Why must it always be blood?"

"Blood is what gives us life, it is there for a birth and there at our death." His shadow answered in her whispered voice.

**Indeed. But I must warn you, the task will not be easy. There will be those who will stand in your way. And the powers you wish to interfere with are not powers that should be taken lightly. They are ancient arcane powers deep within the heart. And that power will attract demons beyond your control, alas if you were to perish among them, it would have all been for nothing. **

"Believe me; I have no desire to die." Alastair assured the book, turning to his shadowy companion who snarled in return as if to back his statement up. The book was silent for a moment, processing the whole thing together.

**There is a woman, a strong woman who I have once had a brief encounter with. She too – like the mage of the dead – was not overwhelmed by my powers. The only grief I have towards her is that she handed me back into the wrong hands. She dwells where trouble lies, find this woman and you will find your answers and may begin your quest. **

Before Alastair could respond, a sudden thrust of the earth collapsed the ground beneath him and he fell, sucked down by some unseen force. He did not cry out, or make any attempt to prevent what was happening. Blue lights seemed to flash before his very eyes, and a familiar feeling of being dragged from one world to another crossed his entire body as if he had plunged into a warm sea. And when he finally opened his eyes, he found himself back in that besmirched room in the Bloodstone Tavern.

Sitting opposite – returned to her panther state – was his shadowy companion, her large yellow eyes narrowed in impatience. Her paws were crossed over each other and her jaw was transfixed in a silent snarl. Beside her, was the body of a man Alastair could vaguely remember but his identity was lost among the swirling whirlpool of his own thoughts. The knowledge he had gained was riddled in his head. He smiled down at the shadow opposite of him, proud of the knowledge gained but all that met him was a cold stare and scathing words. "Men are useless," she hissed before slinking out of the door.

Alastair continued, not affected by his companion's coldness. They slipped past every citizen without notice. From the rowdy men on the corner table, to the lifeless barmaid behind the counter, they slunk past without notice as if they themselves were merely phantoms in their minds. "Well," Alastair mumbled as they slipped through the door. "This changes everything."

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**This chapter is a very important chapter may I add, there is a lot of foreshadowing in it. Also, this is the last time Alastair will appear for a while...I think. The next few chapters are focussed more on the heroes. ****I usually don't say mention such things on other websites other than its own but I was browsing through deviantart when I came across a delightful little fan art of the heroes from Fable as dogs. It made me laugh and cheered me right up I felt like I just had to mention it. I haven't got an account (I can't draw, seriously I have trouble with stickmen so I don't really think I should join) so I couldn't leave a comment so I thought I would mention it here to make up for the missing comment. It's by someone named Biigurutwin. If anyone would like to pass on my admiration to the artist I would be very greatful. **

**Hope you are happy with this chapter! Thank you all again x Next chapter, Reaver's trial...**

**P.S. I'm going to try and get the next chapter up before my birthday...sixteen days :D Hopefully a Dragon Age: Origins is on the way ;)**


	8. Facade of the Thief

**A/N: I would again like to apologize for the long delay, I will make sure I'm never this late again. Thank you for all of your reviews!**

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**Chapter Eight: Facade of the Thief**

There was a groan in the darkness and Sparrow instantly recognised it as Reaver's. The four heroes had made it down the hole the door had revealed. Hammer was cheerfully brushing dust from her person while Reaver lay on the floor, groaning either in agony or shock. The others heroes could not help showing their amusement through smiles, even Garth seemed to repress a laugh as Reaver looked up at them scowling. "Thank you ever so much for the warning," he muttered through cold sarcasm before turning away and rising. "Well Theresa, who is the _lucky_ competitor now?"

"**The honour is yours Reaver," **Theresa's voice stated in its usual tone. **"However, be warned, you may be confronted by something you are not willing to face just yet. And there is no going back. You must face what is ahead. Walk down the hallway to your right, and enter the chamber. There you will confront your trial."**

"Well lucky me then, do I have to fight a kraken? Play a little puzzle game? Rescue some helpless maidens? Or kill some helpless maidens?" Reaver raised an eyebrow at the seer's silence. Hammer turned to Sparrow whispering so Reaver could not hear "You don't think he will have to kill people...will he?"

Then the seer spoke, saying the few words Sparrow had heard her speak many times when she was a child in Theresa's care. **"Wait and you will see."**

"I had a suspicion you were going to say that," Reaver muttered, disappointment evident in his voice as he turned away from the heroes and began to walk towards the opening of the dark corridor. He paused for a moment, as if thinking something through and turned back to the others with a smile full of boyish charm. "You know what they say," he said waving his hand, "Ladies First."

Hammer shot a look of annoyance towards the smiling pirate, "You're a right cheesy git aren't you?" Her voice did not even try to hide the contempt within it. Sparrow spoke no word to either of them, calmly walking past Reaver and Garth followed her into the dark corridor. Reaver's boyish smile turned into an irksome smirk. "Well I would have said 'Age before Beauty' but that would have created quite the little paradox wouldn't it?"

"Ha! You think I'm letting you wander behind us, where you can easily run off and leave us to rot in this cave? Not bloody likely!"

"My dear Hammer, I can do marvellous things with my legs when such a time arrives but jumping that far up," he pointed up to the hole they had fallen through which was barely visible in the dark room, "is not one of them sadly enough. It shames me to say such a thing but I am just as trapped as the rest you _delightful _people."

Hammer crossed her arms, irritated that Reaver's point did indeed make sense. "Humph, well you have immortality on your side."

"I prefer to call it Eternal Youth, much more of an accurate description."

"Just walk forward or I will test the limit of your 'Eternal Youth'!"

"Threats now, my dear you are a rather aggravated individual. But that is what vows of chastity does to you I'm afraid. I knew a priestess once, and she was quite the –"

Hammer roughly shoved past him into the hallway, not passing with as much grace as Sparrow or Garth did. Chuckling Reaver followed them. As soon as every hero stood within the hall, a flash illuminated them and in the aftermath yellow orbs floated by the ceiling lighting the hallway. They bobbed up and down floating on an invisible water surface, bobbing with slow currents which seemed to not exist.

Garth's eyes widened with interest as he glanced at the walls. On each side were images, much different to the ones in the previous chamber. They were not carved into the stone, they looked as if they had been painted, placed together by colours. One of them, Sparrow managed to glimpse was of a child in a cradle, surrounded by a strange shimmer of colours. Another, of a village engulfed with flames. The next, a young woman who was blindfolded. On the other side, she spotted a figure in red which she instantly recognised as Jack of Blades and the man next to him as the hero of Oakvale. Which was odd and Garth was the first to spot the strangeness of this image. "How old is this cavern Theresa?" Garth asked.

"**The precise age is unknown though it is hinted to be thousands of years old. The Eternals, the creators of the Cavern of Trial carved it for their disciples...a race which is long gone from this world."**

"These images then must have been painted by prophets because surely they were here before these events took place. The first destruction of Oakvale," Garth pointed to the village in flames. He moved down the images one by one and stopped. They glanced to him for his stop was not one of interest, it was sudden and stiff. He was looking at another image; his mouth fell into a frown as he studied it.

The image was probably one of the most cryptic of them all. The image was of two ships, both on either side. One most obviously belonged to a pirate vessel, by the shabby sails and weather beaten sides, and of course the flag. The other was more elegant, and by the looks of it was not from Albion. The wood used was unlike any she had seen before, it was dark, and embodied in cracks were red colours rich with character. Bright and they seemed to gleam within the sun which was rising behind them. In the middle of the image was a young woman, her face not shown. Her head was bent low over shackles around her wrists, her feet tied together with strong rope. Her long black hair covered her face. She wore a white gown stained with red, most likely blood. Her skin was painted with an exotic colour, a beautiful olive tone. Sparrow felt great sympathy for her, how helpless she seemed. It was obvious she was a prisoner, her body tied down most likely for pleasure. Hammer seemed to have the same reaction, but Garth stood unmoved, a hatred Sparrow had never seen clouded his gaze. Reaver seemed too busy, curiously walking among the others.

"What's wrong Garth?" asked Hammer, a look of concern for the mage snapped her out of the trance the picture had put them all in. "Do you know what this one's about?"

"Indeed I do," Garth stated bitterly, and all feeling for the image began to change for Sparrow.

"What happened to her?" Hammer asked straight away, her eyes set on the woman. Sparrow too wanted to know her fate, praying silently she had been rescued by the smarter ship. But all hope of that seemed to die within the gaze Garth regarded the picture with. Sparrow could guess the fate, images of torture flashed through her mind, body and soul broken and a slow painful death is what Sparrow could guess for her. "Tell us Garth," why this longing haunted them was uncertain, what was certain is that they needed to know.

Garth pointed at the smarter ship, "That is a Samarkian vessel. The wood is a rare pine found only in the depths of the western forests." He took a breath before continuing, "Its name was 'The Jamaria', named after the wife of the captain. On their last voyage they ran into a pirate vessel in one of the Southern Albion seas." He pointed to the other ship. "They were involved in a huge battle, before the pirates surrendered. It is a myth I was told many times by my father and one I recited to my-"He stopped for a moment, his brow creasing with a moment of resentment. "It is a famous tale in Samarkand, though not as well known in Albion. The girl, no older than sixteen, it was that that made the story even more shocking than it looked. But this is not the time; we should focus on Reaver's test and get out of here. I have a feeling that these eternals are not exactly what we think they are."

"What that they are the children of the Gods?" Hammer asked, her tone was not serious and seemed amused. "What do we think they are?"

"Spirits, but I have a feeling they are not just spirits and that child is neither human nor spirit."

"Talk about making this even more confusing," Hammer groaned, and Sparrow could not help agreeing with her. It was a point well made, what these beings were held no relevance to the task in hand but Garth's expression seemed to tell an opposite story.

"Why do we even care what they are?" Reaver had joined them once again, his tone now bored.

"It matters because if my theory is correct then we have to be very careful."

"Well are you going to share this theory, or are we going to have a little guessing game?"

"I believe that the chain and all of this, is from the civilisation of Shadows."

His words struck a silence among the heroes, out of all the theories they believed Garth could cook up, the thought that they were in a cavern creating by Shadows themselves seemed preposterous. "I've seen Shadows," Sparrow spoke up, her eyes alive with confusion. "They are mindless creatures that attack, very nasty but how could they create this." She gestured to the corridor and painted walls.

"The Shadow Court," Reaver added, his eyebrow raised higher. "It makes absurd sense in a way. They do show intelligence to a certain extent. Primal Shadows they refer to..."

"...as the Gods," Garth finished for him. "Shadows are from another world themselves. They creep into our world, it unsure exactly how but many believe there are bridges which connect our world with theirs. The Gods, refer to the Primal Shadows, intelligent and pure in evil. They destroyed the first Temple in Shadows before turning back, not seeing the followers as worthy enough. The Eternals, I could only guess as being like Reaver said The Shadow Court he selfishly made a deal with. I would guess they are part of the eternals or the immortals I am not quite sure. In all the tales I heard Eternals were neither good nor evil, they lingered on the line and only heretics of that race would learn one way more than the other. Neutral standing is where an eternal is meant to be."

"So...those Shadows that guard them," Sparrow guessed. "They would be the followers?"

"I'm too sure," Garth admitted. "The followers could refer to humans or other beings which worship this powerful race though yes, I can see where you are coming from. " He looked at their confused faces. "I noticed the whole connection because I believe the child's drawing were of shadows."

"And you got this how?" Reaver asked, "And did you not think to mention them before?"

"I had no secure opinion before. Research I have done say that Shadows with a certain amount of intelligence can transform into other creatures with enough power, they can become shape shifters. That is the real reason you had trouble identifying them as one creature."

"So, they were in the middle of transformation." It began to make sense for Sparrow in a strange way, and the others seemed to be beginning to understand Garth's logic on the situation but even then, it was nothing to what Garth seemed to understand.

"Also," Garth continued. "This tale, the Samarkian myth is about Shadows. It's a wild guess but I believe we should keep an eye out, no matter their moral standing, Shadows are unpredictable."

"**Though this conversation is interesting," **Theresa interrupted and all the heroes silenced. **"However, what is important is that this trial is done and you can continue your journey to stop what is coming."**

"You know," Reaver muttered as they continued to walk down the corridor. "It would be much easier if you just told us what we have to face." And he was not surprised she had chosen to not reply. "For the amount of information you have provided us with, you might as well be mute."

More painted images flashed at either side, calling to them, beckoning for them to give up their journey and gaze into their stories. Sparrow was tempted, after all, if they were carved by prophets then there was the slight chance their future was painted upon these stone walls, viewed on display. One quick gaze, then perhaps they would know all they needed to know but Sparrow knew, it was never that easy. She spied a light in the distance, a glowing end to the passage way. The closer they got, the denser the air became. It smelled of scented perfumes of yesteryears, thick and dense as if they were bathed in it. At first she thought her senses were deceiving her, and she would have carried on if it were not for the singing...

"What-"began Hammer but her words were drowned in the waves of subtle music which washed over them the closer they got. It was slow, and gentle, but then the eerie singing continued and the words became clearer in the dimly lit corridor.

_Nobody knows_

_Nobody sees_

_The sirens of Oakvale_

_Down by the Reeds_

"Wait, isn't that the song you were singing when we first met Hammer?" Sparrow asked, remembering the simple tune and lovely voice that followed. It was that that first drew her to Hammer, and made her feel more comfortable in her presence.

But then something else caught their attention, something even stranger than the phantom music. A little orb, yellow in colour floated down from the ceiling and hovered in front of them, dancing on the air. It would slowly glide towards them then retreat back to its original position. "I think," Hammer began as the graceful orb moved towards them once more, "it wants us to follow it."

"Don't be ridiculous," Reaver snapped and Sparrow immediately could tell Reaver had lost his nerve. She could tell he knew something they did not. "Orbs are energy and nothing more, it is just magic." His voice grew bitterer with every word. Almost immediately after his words the orbs dived at him and circled him, occasionally swooping down at him as if attacking him playfully. Reaver tried to swat it away like one would do with a flying insect. After four more circles it gave up and continued to gracefully glide down the passageway.

"I think Hammer is right," Garth stated before walking after the dancing orb. Reaver opened his mouth to protest but both Sparrow and Hammer followed Garth, and in light of Theresa's warning about Reaver not wishing to face his challenge, they kept a close eye on him. This gave him no choice but to follow. "It is pointless," he snapped at the others but his words fell on deaf ears. "It is just a light, it is not even alive. How can it guide us?"

"Do not be so narrow minded Reaver!" Garth turned his head slightly so he could view the pirate. "I would agree with you if the orbs had remained inactive but you cannot ignore it was trying to communicate with us. Therefore, there must be some sort of life form at work whether it is it or it is being controlled by one." He turned back to the orb and continued to follow. But stopped, puzzling the women. He turned back to Reaver, "This is your test not ours. Do you not trust the orb or is fear manipulating your sense of judgement?"

"I am NOT afraid!" Reaver's eyes flashed at the being accused at such a thing but Sparrow herself began to think Garth had a point. "Why would I fear a little ball of light?" He laughed but it was high and unsteady. There was defiantly something bothering Reaver, something his pride refused to tell them. His eyes were wide with panic and shuffled uneasily. He looked so alert yet so distant at the same time and Sparrow herself began to worry. There was something among them, something which seemed to be affecting the pirate. A sudden chill barricaded the warmth of the chamber away from the heroes. Yet Sparrow knew it was not a fiend lurking in the darkness, it was dread. It tainted the air around them. There was something strange, something that unforeseen by any of them. The instructions, the rhyme at the beginning...

_Remorse holds no great skill_

Before she could share her sudden thought out loud, the orb began to spin in the air for a split second before darting down the passage way leaving a little trail of light and there was a flash of bright, blinding light before a large circular door appear materialized before them. It was similar to the one they encountered during Garth's test. The orb which had guided them dissolved to the ground and turned into a ray of light which circled the ground.

"**You must walk forward into the light and accept your challenge."**

Reaver frowned at her words. "Well, perhaps I don't want to accept my challenge." He folded his arms and stood, glowering at the door like an insolent child. Hammer groaned and shoved him from behind. He stumbled forward falling into the centre of the light. His angry curses were muffled out by the rumble of stone as the door began to open. Reaver turn to glare at Hammer with such force that if looks could kill, Hammer would be dead and buried there and then. Actually, Sparrow was surprised he didn't whip up his gun and shoot her...or at least attempt a violent gesture but he merely threw his cape over his shoulder and lifted himself up with an air of arrogance which usually swirled around his person. Then, head held high he walked through the door, obviously forgetting about the warning Theresa had given him.

Two stone torches stood boldly next to the entrance of the door and when Reaver had stepped through, a yellow flame burst to life within each of them which caused him to jump. The other heroes followed suit, and as soon as all of them entered the circular chamber, the stone door behind them closed. The room was very much similar to the one Garth had entered however there was only one door this time on the other side. The chamber itself was lit by torches, which stood not only at the entrance like they first thought but all around, attached to the circular walls. Each held a bright yellow flame which had flickered to life as the door closed. In the middle of the chamber stood a platform, similar to the one Lucien had in his study all those years ago. Sparrow could not help feeling cold at the memory and did her best to not turn away.

But it was what was on that platform which seemed to turn the whole feeling of this trial around. There, placed side by side, were two chests. One of them was adorned with a beautiful gold trimmed edge, blending beautifully with the mahogany wood that held the whole chest together. It was welcoming and Reaver's eyes seemed to sparkle with delight as he witnessed it. The second however, was not as grand. The chest was of a fainter wood, its colour weak and wispy. And the metal which surrounded it was rusted and fragile. Sparrow was not surprised to see him rush towards the mahogany chest.

"**This is part of your test."**

"I'm sorry did I hear you right?" Hammer's infuriated voice broke the enchanted silence the chest had left the heroes in the wake of. "His test is getting treasure, how is that a challenge, he always gets treasure!"

"My dear Sparrow," Reaver mused as he began to unbolt the first chest. "I was beginning to fear this tale you spun me about treasure was a deliberate lie but my faith in you is returning slowly." He was grinning ear to ear as the chest slowly opened. A golden glow bathed Reaver's youthful face as it opened, and there glinting like hundreds of stars crushed together was a pile of golden coins. Sparrow moved forward for a closer look, each glinted in the yellow light, making the coin's splendour even more apparent. Reaver reached out to take some in his hand, Greed etched upon his features in a strangely elegant way. It was hard for one to make such a sin elegant but it was no surprise Reaver had managed to pull it off. His eyes were alive with desire, and he closed his eyes for a second as his fingers brushed through the coins, his eyelids fluttering for a second as he attempted to look straight at the brilliance.

Just as he was pulling a handful out of the chest, something strange happened. A yellow orb similar, if not the same as the one that had guided them in the first place appeared behind the two chests. It seemed to not dissolve this time but to spread, like yellow dust creating a hazy form which grew. Reaver barely paid much attention to it, even as it began to spread. It swirled around like a small yellow wind, creating a form of some such as it built further and further upwards. After a few moments, it stopped and there in the orbs place was a faint figure one could only guess was a woman. By the faint look of her, she was of a slight physique dressed in a dated dress one would usually see a citizen of a small village would wear. She even wore what looked like a Rural Kerchief on her head but the faint image did not supply any of them of an idea of what colours she had. All they saw was the hazy figure and the yellow tinge to the mist.

"Oh be gone Spirit," Reaver mumbled as he stared with joy at the golden coins between his fingers. "I have no time to play your games."

"It is not games we seek Rupert, but only the truth." She spoke, her voice slow and the spirit itself cocked its head at him curiously as if studying his reaction. If it was a reaction she was looking for, her wish was certainly granted.

The moment he laid eyes on the woman, he threw himself back as far away from the spirit as possible, the gold coins that were in his hands falling and landing with small, gentle thuds yet still as brilliant as ever and not damaged in the slightest. Reaver was breathless, his eyes widened madly as he looked at the woman and it was a few moments before he gathered the courage to speak. "Y-you, but that's not- what sort of trickery is this!?"

"Well aren't you going to open the second one?" The spirit moved forward and a ghostly hand lay upon the more unwelcoming chest. Her thin fingers took it in turns to tap gently on the top her hand was laid on. Reaver's eyes looked at the chest in horror before daring to turn back to the woman that waited her hand on the chest, patiently for him to return to the platform.

Reaver turned to Garth, eyes wide with shock and horror. "How is- what is it? Is it....real?" He seemed breathless; Sparrow had never witnessed panic like it from him before.

"It's an illusion I suspect," Garth began but Reaver paid no attention and turned back to the faded spirit. Again its head cocked to the side much like a curious animal, and Reaver lifted himself up from the ground and slowly walked towards her. He stopped a few steps away from the platform and with bated breath waited for a response. She continued to look at him in that peculiar way. He then smiled, it was devious and all nerve returned to him. "So spirit," he began beginning to step around the platform and circle it like a bird of prey stalking its victim. "What are you?"

"I am S-"the faded spirit began but Reaver silenced it with a wag of his finger.

"Ah ah ah," he continued in a disapproving way. "I did not ask who you were pretending to be. I know that perfectly well even though it's been centuries since I last saw..." he stopped and Sparrow could swear she almost saw sadness or something similar reflecting in his eyes. "The point still remains, what are you and why are you here?"

The spirit remained the same and seemed unmoved by his suspicious attitude. It seemed surprised at how quickly he recovered yet there was still some fear in his eyes and Sparrow could tell he was hiding behind what little bravery he seemed to understand. Reaver had brushed the woman's appearance aside, obviously putting faith into Garth's illusion theory though doubt still lingered behind those dark blue eyes. "I am what you made me Rupert..."

"Don't call me that!" Reaver snapped, now walking closer to the platform and pointing an accusing finger at her. "Never call me that name, I am not _him! _You are not _her_! I demand you tell me what foolish trickery this is!"

And then the spirit smiled and at once the form darkened. Colour returned to her being, the clothes were light, mixtures of blue and green wrapped beautifully around her form. Her eyes remained dark, as if the spirit could not quite work out which colour they had once been. Her hair, which was tied back with the kerchief, was a deep red which went well with her well placed features. Yet as Sparrow laid eyes on her, she noticed something familiar about his woman. Sparrow could not place in her mind what was familiar all she knew was there was something about his woman, something she recognised. Reaver's expression looked more dismayed with every change, and backed away slowly from the image of the woman he seemed to know. "I am what you made me," she repeated only this time her voice was more light and pleasant. "I looked into your mind and this is the image which you gave me. Though some parts I find difficult to copy, parts you are blocking out."

"My mind?" Reaver's voice was slightly weaker than usual, his eyes avoiding contact with the spirit. "That is a very personal intrusion."

"It is meant to be," The spirit replied. "I see everything, the more you fear the more it opens up. It was difficult at first but even then, you are like a book, a very interesting one to read. Hiding little dirty secrets your companions have not grasped. Well not completely." The spirit turned to the others heroes, who waited in the place they had been since they stepped through the door. "The Mage," her eyes were on Garth. "He has such a brilliant mind; most of it is closed off. Yet I see a great loss you experienced before you were permanently in Albion. "

Her eyes turned to Hammer. "And what do we have here; a monk broke her vows of peace? You toil everyday with possibilities that could never be. You are disgusted at every life you take, yet you are a warrior none the less. You work with monks with teachings you agree with yet you longed to return to Albion to see the friends you left behind, but did not get the welcome you expected." Sparrow turned away from Hammer in guilt.

This time the spirit turned to Sparrow. "You again close your mind, trying to fight my intrusion as your companion would put it. Yet I can see small details that you are so eager to hide. I see anger, so much bitterness. A jaded warrior, whose coldness chases away everyone who tries to connect with this you, it is the reason your husband left you after the Spire was it not?"

Hammer seemed to shift uncomfortably as Garth and Reaver slowly turned to Sparrow, forgetting about the spirit for a moment. Sparrow closed her eyes, trying to block the spirit from diving in further but its goal seemed to have been completed.

"I never knew you were once married," Garth spoke first, his eyes firmly on Sparrow and seemed to soften on her.

"Explains a lot," Reaver's eyes were sharper on her, as if trying to working out something but they shifted to Hammer who was looking down. "And I guess you knew about this little twist am I right?"

"Well yes," Hammer blurted out her eyes narrowing at Reaver. "But it was Sparrow's concern not any of yours and certainly not mine!"

"And what of you pirate," and Reaver at once went silent, refusing to look at the spirit and kept his eyes towards the other heroes. "You're quite the mystery yourself, and you have no will to protect your mind as well as the mage or your leader. Your life has been long, longer than of your companions. Yet short in a way, I see lives you lived each have its own identity. You came from a town of heroes, one that held the greatest hero that's lived."

"Yes yes," Reaver rushed; now looking at the ceiling. "It would be very helpful seer if you could point me in the direction of my test. This chitchat, no matter how much _interesting _information we may have gathered, is a complete waste of time."

The spirit smiled, yet it was not warm and almost looked devious. "In a hurry are we hero of skill?" It was almost taunting and Sparrow saw Reaver reaching for his gun though pausing because even he would know that spirits are transparent. "Strange, within these two lives you achieved much. In your first, you were nothing merely an inkblot on a map. But in this one, immortal and considered a leader among your town though mostly out of fear."

"How very interesting," Reaver feigned a yawn. "But if you will excuse us spirit, I think your job is done. Yes yes, Garth had some sort of crisis before coming here, Hammer is whiney and lonely, Sparrow was married and I have had a long life, well done now if you will excuse us..."

"I've noticed throughout your babbling," the spirit spoke again in a slower tone than usual. "That you have refused eye contact with me, is it the form I take? Do your companions know what you sacrificed to gain the long life you have lived? Do they know the tale of Oakvale...?"

"I knew it!" Sparrow almost shrieked and Reaver winced at the sound of his old town. "I knew you were lying when you said you had nothing to do with Oakvale!" Horror at what Theresa had recited to her as she made her way through that barren landscape, the horror of what those people had gone through. An unexpected death from one of their own, their bodies never left to rest as they rose again and again as hollow men.

"It was not me," Reaver turned at once, his eyes alive with anger and torment. "You were not there, I did not destroy Oakvale! I am not that man! That man was a coward, weak and despicable!"

"My father told me of Oakvale, he told me it was cursed..." Hammer began, her expression growing more alarmed the more times she spoke. "He told me survivors had struggled to Oakfield and..."

"There were no survivors!" Reaver snarled, turning his fury towards the heroes who each looked sickened by the revelation though none of them held an ounce of shock. "Stragglers outside of the village may have escaped but everyone inside the village, everyone –"He stopped, his whole posture seemed to change and return to the one she saw in Wraithmarsh. It was no longer held high like before but seemed to sink slightly yet remain rigid in a way. She saw Reaver reaching for his gun and he gave a surprised yelp when he found there was nothing in his holster. "What!?" His eyes were alive with a rage she had not seen in his eyes before. "You blind hag!" he spat at nothing; possibly imagining the seer was there in the room with them.

"**I foresaw the action which you would quickly jump to, and to avoid needless time wasting I thought I would remove the item from your possession until you calmed down."**

"HOW!?" He growled, his eyes sharpened to the ceiling where he imagined the voice was coming from. "I refuse to take part in this _test,_" he spoke the word as if it was an unpleasant taste on his tongue disgust and irritation plain upon his speech. "Now return my pistol now!"

"**If you do not cooperate it will be compulsory for me to force your hand. I warned you that you will not be eager to face your test."**

"Then get rid of this spirit," he waved his hand in the direction of the ghostly woman who remained still, hands on that unwelcoming chest. It was then that it clicked into place for Sparrow, the chest, the unwelcoming chest. She stepped forward, ignoring the hand Garth laid on her shoulder to stop her going forward. She shrugged it off and continued towards the chest, gaining looks of confusion from Reaver who did not look as if he knew what any of this was about. Ignoring the spirit which stood, its ghostly hands still lay on that chest; she unbolted the rusty lock on the faded wood and opened the chest.

Sparrow had half expected something horrible waiting in that chest, something beyond belief. However, what was in the chest was not as extraordinary as they had all expected. The spirit faded, leaving nothing behind as it returned to light the ceiling of the corridor along with the other orbs which waited patiently above. There in the chest, were coins not as beautiful as the golden ones but were there nevertheless. Reaver approached Sparrow and the chest, though he seemed relieved the spirit was now gone that did not prevent him from being slightly cautious as he approached. "Lead," he murmured as lifted a few out and examined them closely. "All that fuss for lead!" He laughed relief and pure amusement within the syllables of the next sentence. "Out of all the things that could have been in that chest, I never thought it would be something as harmless as some lead coins."

Sparrow, standing next to the pirate took a coin out of his hand and looked at it. It was flimsy and thin, not at all shiny and precious as the other ones Reaver would probably never let any of them touch. Though there was something different about this coin, something Reaver was too blind to notice. The engraving on it, there was a picture of what looked like a women. "Look," Sparrow pointed to it. "Who is she?" Her blue eyes looked to his, trying to work out some sort of meaning behind that dark cloud which his iris would hide behind. But realisation took a while to set it, and when it did he didn't speak but merely looked at the picture with the same horror he had surveyed the spirit with.

"It's haunting you isn't it?" she whispered and Reaver's eyes narrowed as if warning her but she ignored. "I knew it was you Reaver, ever since I met you I knew it was you that destroyed Oakvale." Her eyes were dismayed yet carried on. "You can hide all you want Reaver but just now we need to get out of here."

"And how do you suppose we do that!?" he spat back at her, eyes more narrowed in anger than before. "You seem to always know everything, tell me, how do we get ourselves out of here? So far we've had nattering spirits and bundles of coins, what do you make of that!?"

This time the old Sparrow came back, not the quiet one she was going for within these chambers so she could at least attempt sociality with her companions but the flawed one the spirit could see so well. "For goodness sake!" she snapped, not bothering to keep her voice down this time. "Pick a bloody coin! There are two chests here, each with coins you pick one of them! Each with a different reason to why you pick it! You know, this could have all been avoided if you had opened both chests!"

Before Reaver could give a headed reply, the ground beneath them shook. At first it was a mere tremor and all the heroes had remained on foot. But then, more began to follow. It was if the earth beneath them was shifting but nothing else seemed to move. The chest remained where they were, untouched and undisturbed by the sudden movements of the ground. The flames of the torches began to grow, flickered at an alarming rate as if they were about to go out. The ceiling itself above them began to groan as if a pressure they could not fathom was applying itself beneath the old cracks of the walls.

"Hammer!" Garth called at once to the monk, who with her hammer slung over her shoulders was making her way to the pirate and flaxen woman. "Go to the door and attempt to open it-"his words were cut off by the sound of rock beginning to crumble. All eyes averted from the two chests and began to make their way up. Cracks which had previously made home in the walls of the chamber were beginning to appear in the ceiling. Dust that had once belonged to stone began to fall thick and heavy on the air around them.

"Be careful!" Sparrow heard someone cry out before she felt hands, flinging her away from the platform just in time as a large rock fell caved in from the ceiling and landed where she had been. The unwelcoming chest was broken and lead coins flew in all direction, scattering the floor of the chamber with small, quiet clunks. She realised the hands had belonged to Reaver, and he had flung not only her but himself out of the way. Before she could even attempt to get up, she felt Hammer pulling her from the ground and pulling her away from more falling pieces. Garth was strangely already at the large door, a force field around him throwing away any parts of the ceiling that fell anywhere near him.

Reaver struggled to get himself up, often being knocked right back down by the vibration of the ground below them. "Falling ceiling," he choked through the dust, amusement tinting the words. "You would think they would think of something more creative." Hammer reached out, grasping Reaver's arm and pulled him out of the way, avoiding being crushed by more falling pieces. "C'mon!" she cried, dragging both Reaver and Sparrow along as she rushed towards Garth, moving side to side to avoid the falling pieces of stone.

Reaver broke from her grip momentarily, as he dived towards the spray of coins that lay on the floor. Hammer attempted to grab a hold of him once again but Sparrow, understanding what Reaver was trying to do, held her back. "What the hell is he doing!?" Hammer demanded, swatting away falling dust and pushing herself against the door they were attempting to open. "He'll get himself killed!"

"Reaver!" Sparrow called while pushing herself against the door. He turned for a second to hear the rest of her words, "Hurry up!"

"Hurry up!?" Reaver snapped as he ducked from more falling rubble. "I am attempting to save your lives and all you can say is hurry up!?" He reached out for the scattered coins, his fingers inches from reaching one of them. "I could be crushed any moment and all you have the heart to say is hurry up!?"

"Oh shut it with the dramatics!" Hammer snarled, pushing herself against the door with more force. "You're doing it to save your own skin, and besides if you had hurried with this instead of taking your sweet time this would never have happened- ahhh!" she ducked as something came hurtling towards her, small and travelling at an alarming rate. As she ducked, it sailed past her and landed with a clunk against the door. As soon as it made contact, there was a creaking sound and door threw itself open revealing a corridor much similar to the ones they had previously travelled through.

Reaver himself soon rushed past them, and it was surprising and amusing at how fast that pirate could run if he really wanted out of the way. Following his example, Garth, Sparrow and Hammer pursued and as soon as they made it through the door shut and the chaos it the previous chamber was nothing but a muffled sound.

Hammer turned on Reaver at once, "You threw a coin at me!"

"Hammer," Garth murmured, slightly out after the whole ordeal. "Leave him alone, he got us out that is the main thing."

"I did my best," Reaver concluded with an arrogant smirk painted on his face, his body slumped against a wall. The coin lay beside him and as he picked it up Sparrow noticed something. The coin was not the dazzling, golden brilliance that was in the first chest Reaver has shown such interest in. It was in fact the worthless lead one which only bared the picture of that mysterious woman, nothing else was so grand about it. "Hang on," Sparrow began as she leant forward to retrieve the coin but Reaver pocketed it quickly so she could not look at it. "That's a lead one, I thought you'd you go for the gold one."

"It was first one I could get to," he growled as if challenging Sparrow to chase the matter further. But she did not and merely nodded to accept Reaver's word. "C'mon," Hammer said as she began to walk down the corridor. "One more bloody chamber and we'll know what all this fuss is about."

Little did any of them know that Reaver passed several gold coins in order to reach the lead one...

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**Next chapter Hammer's trial...**

**Hope you enjoyed!**


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